Insights
by keru.m
Summary: Sequel to 'Conversations'. Through their evolving relationship, Harm and Mac discover a lot about each other and, in the process, themselves.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Sequel to 'Conversations'! I wanted to finish before I posted. Longest story I've written so far. Some days I'm proud of it, some days I want to junk it. I think that's because I've been working on it for so long, and it's just time to get it off my hard drive and to you. Or so I hope; actually, I'm rather nervous.

Moving on.

In this story, I basically used what happened on the show during season five, from Boomerang onwards, to illustrate the advance in Harm and Mac's relationship. Don't expect any action here, and remember my primary interest is in Harm and Mac's interactions.

Initially, I thought that I'd keep the story in line with the main happenings on the show, with the exception that H&M would be seeing each other instead of Renee and Mic. I had great ideas and stuff for pretty much all the episodes, but geez it was such a huge project and my memory is really fuzzy (I don't own the DVDs). So I only selected a few episodes to do this with. Obviously, I added stuff that didn't happen in relation to the episodes, to thicken the plot. In an ideal world, there will be a 'trequel', for which I have ideas in my head using season six stuff. But this world isn't ideal, so I'm not making any promises.

As was done in Conversations, I am not going to write out what happened during the episodes, because you guys have seen them, so no need to be redundant. Instead, I'll put in a quick summary before each chapter, if you need it, and just add on stuff explaining things through H&M interactions/conversations/happenings post-episode. Of course, since Renee and Mic sometimes feature (prominently) in the actual episodes, you can use your imagination when it comes to this story, although to my mind what is different in this story is pretty evident. I don't think you need to remember these episodes to understand the story, at least, I hope you don't.

One thing I did do that is major, is that I took an event that in 'real time' happened in Season 6, over a year after Harm's return from flying, and made it happen about six months later instead, at end Season 5. You will probably know it when you see it.

If it's confusing, then I guess I should apologize in advance, but I have faith you guys will be just fine.

Finally, in 'Conversations', some of you complained the story was too slow paced, and nothing was really happening. You might feel the same way about this one, because I wanted to take the time to develop Harm and Mac's relationship. Be patient, is all. Life isn't always one drama after another, and we can learn a lot from the stuff in between.

--

--

**Insights – Part 1**

JAG HQ  
Monday  
1048 Local

Mac, Harm and Bud walked out of the admiral's office, and into the early morning bustle of the bullpen.

Bud turned to Harm and Mac as soon as they had cleared Tiner's desk.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, Sir. I have to tell Harriet that I'll be in Australia for the next few days."

The two senior officers nodded, and Mac watched Bud walk away, knowing that Harm was about to lay into her for her slip in the admiral's office. She'd sensed his reaction when she'd mentioned the emails Mic was sending her. In her defence, she really had forgotten about them until the admiral mentioned Mic and the case Harm and Bud were being sent to Australia for. It was the damn cold she was trying to fight off; it made everything fuzzy. She just wanted to get back into bed with a hot cup of tea and a warm Harm, not deal with having to face another separation from Harm when things between them were so new. Only a weekend old, in fact.

"Brumby has been emailing you." It was less a question, and more an accusation. He was watching her for her reaction; she could feel it even as her eyes remained fixed on Bud's retreating back.

She sighed, already tired and the day had just started. "You're going to overreact about this, aren't you?"

"He's trying to lure you." Harm stated.

"You are delusional." She protested, looking at him in disbelief. "He didn't even ask for me. He specifically asked for you and Bud."

"Exactly." Harm crossed his arms over his chest, as though that proved his very point. His sanctimonious declaration irritated her.

Any possible reply from her was interrupted by a sneeze.

"Just great." She muttered angrily, sniffing. "I'm stuck in this frozen swamp while you get to go where it's summer. And to add insult to injury, I'm coming down with some nasty bug." She sniffed slightly, and sneezed again. This was just too much. Mac huffed, and set a course for her office. She needed tissues and refuge.

Harm reached into his pocket to hand Mac is handkerchief, but she was already half way across the bullpen by the time he had it out. He watched as she shut her office door, slumped down into her chair, and reach for the pack of tissues in her desk drawer.

Harm wondered if he should go talk to her. He figured that the cold that was sneaking up on her was probably making her irritable – he couldn't remember the last time she'd been sick – but he wasn't sure if he should go into the lion's den now.

It might be wiser to wait.

A few seconds of deliberation decided the matter: he'd make her some camomile tea as a peace offering, and then go and talk some sense into her about Bugme. And he'd find her a chocolate bar. She loved chocolate.

Resolution made, Harm walked towards the kitchen, shaking his head as he went. How Mac could be so obtusely oblivious to Brumby's intent was beyond him. One thing was certain: he'd make damn sure when he went to Sydney for this assignment that Brumby would know to leave Mac the hell alone.

"Harmon Rabb, you are one hard man to find!" He heard the loud exclamation coming from the entrance to the bullpen, and cringed at the sight of Renée. What in god's name was she doing here?

She made her way towards him, weaving between the desks with an easy confidence that manifested itself in a complete disregard to the people around her.

"Hello, Commander," She offered him a slightly flirtatious smile, flashing perfect white teeth. "You haven't been returning my calls about attending the debut screening for my recruitment commercial. Can I change your mind?"

Harm was only too aware of the attention her presence and comments to him were attracting from his coworkers.

"Why don't we talk in my office?" He suggested, not waiting for an answer before steering her to his sanctum.

--

Mac blew her nose, and dumped another tissue into the garbage bin by her desk. This day was sucking more and more. First, to have let slip that Mic was emailing her in front of the admiral and Bud, not to mention Harm, like that ... She really had meant to tell Harm, or rather: she would've told him if she had thought it was in any way important. But she hadn't even given Mic a thought since her return from Germany. Besides, she'd had better things to do with Harm this past weekend... well, actually, he'd done such wonderful things to her ... better still, they'd done such wonderful things to each other ... Anyways – Mac shook herself out of the dreamy thoughts that had no business in her office – with all the wonderful stuff that'd happened this weekend, she hadn't even thought about Mic's stupid emails.

And if her slip wasn't enough, it turned out that Mic had requested Harm and Bud's presence, not hers. That was just plain embarrassing. She must have sounded like such an idiot in there, and in front of the admiral to boot. She was not impressed. And what the hell was Mic thinking. Either he thought her incompetent, or he was messing with her. Neither alternative was palatable, but if she were to guess, she'd say the second one was more likely. She was going to call him out on it when he sent his next email. Jerk. Big loser jerk.

The cold draft in Mac's office caused her to shiver. She buried her head in her hands. She didn't want to stay in this stupid, cold winter when she could be on a beach Down Under. It just wasn't fair.

And then Harm was being all unreasonable about the damn emails. Right now she was pissed at both of them, and piled on top of all that, she had the beginnings of a definite cold. And she and Harm had fought first thing in the morning, on her first day back at JAG. That did not bode well, especially not on the heels of their talk with the admiral before Bud had been summoned for the briefing on the assignment in Australia.

That talk with the admiral before Bud's arrival had been ... interesting.

He'd given them a very stern speech about propriety and professional behaviour. He'd also warned them about PDAs and not wanting to have to resort to sending chaperones with them to the copy room. Mac had almost choked on air at that comment. With Harm's rigid restraint and her implacable, hard-won discipline, she doubted they'd ever give the admiral reason to ream them a new one for blurring the line between work and pleasure.

Then again, Harm's restraint and her discipline were never quite as impervious as they ought to be when it came to the other. The little tryst in the admiral's guest room was evidence enough of that. God, what had they been thinking? It occurred to her that Harm was her greatest weakness. And maybe she was his greatest risk.

The realization worried her more than she would let herself admit. She shook her head and banished the rather terrifying thought: it had barely been a weekend, how could she even begin to doubt them? It was not constructive.

Mac sighed. One constructive thing she could do was talk to Harm and clear the air about Mic. He had no reason to worry, for god's sake. Mac couldn't even fathom comparing the two. It was a mystery how that stubborn flyboy's mind worked sometimes, that he'd react like this.

She stood up, a decisive clip to her step, and headed for Harm's office.

Mac knocked on his office door before letting herself in. Harm was sitting behind his desk, leaning back into his chair, chatting easily with a visitor, an amused half-smile on his face. He turned his head to look at her as she entered, and his sentence was left abruptly hanging.

She must be really out of it, Mac decided, if she hadn't even realized that he was in the middle of a meeting.

"Oh, I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt." She said quickly. She moved to leave when, to her surprise, Harm shot up out of his chair.

His face took on the characteristic deer-in-headlights pose, which immediately put Mac on her guard. She took another look at Harm's visitor, and noted the potent artificiality of the undoubtedly beautiful woman seated across from him. Beyond the fur coat she was wearing, there was something about the excessive and obvious care taken to her clothing, hair and make-up that made the woman seem more like someone who belonged in a soap opera than in real life. Mac would bet good money, though, that under the false veneer, this woman – whoever she was – was a total stunner.

"Not at all." The woman addressed Mac in the tone of a person too used to being listened to, to bother with being heard. "I was just trying to convince this handsome sailor to come see the final edit of his performance," She informed Mac in a conspiratorial tone.

Mac looked to Harm for an introduction, and maybe a clue as to what was going on. The reluctance and apprehension in his demeanour was disconcerting.

"Mac, this is Renée Peterson, the director for the recruitment commercial. Renée, this is my partner, Lt Colonel Sarah MacKenzie."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Peterson" Mac replied on auto-pilot, busy trying to process the newly acquired information. This was the woman Harm had dinner with? Mac wondered how much of her clothing and carriage was just an act. If Harm had seen something in her, to invite her to dinner ... Although Mac couldn't help but note that in appearances at least, she and Renee seemed to be polar opposites.

"How do you do, Lieutenant." Renée Peterson replied, obviously not in the least interested in an answer.

"It's Colonel." Mac corrected, thinking it wasn't too uncommon an error for civilians to make. She was willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, difficult though it was.

"Right," Said Renee dismissively. She then cocked her head to the side and examined Mac carefully, her interest suddenly piqued.

"I didn't know the Navy also had green uniforms." This she directed at Harm before turning her attention back to Mac. "You know, I don't think that drab colour suits you. You should wear the blue one."

Mac's eyes widened, and she heard Harm emit a strangled cough. She threw him her most ferocious glare, knowing he was trying to hide his laughter. He quickly choked down his amusement.

"Wrong branch. I'm a Marine." Mac replied with a calm she didn't feel, all the while trying not to clench her jaw. Her goodwill had decisively catapulted itself out the window.

"That's too bad," Renée commiserated with a half-pout, her expert eye still scanning Mac. "I could've used you in a commercial. The camera would just love your cheekbones. With the right makeup of course, and a shorter skirt."

Mac pursed her lips and counted to ten in English, then Farsi, then Russian and then Japanese. Intellectually, she knew the woman wasn't intentionally needling her, but Mac had little respect for her type.

Meanwhile Renee, now seemingly bored with whatever diversion Mac may have presented, stood up to face Harm.

"Well, Harm, your name is on the guest list, so you must come. Here's my card. Call me." She reached over his desk, and slowly slipped her card into his breast pocket. She patted his chest, winked up at him, and then was on her way out of the office.

Mac looked at Harm, while Harm cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her.

Their attention was called to Renée when she stopped at the door, and turned to face Mac. "I'll add a guest under Harm's name, so you can come as well, Corporal, and see your handsome partner," – she threw Harm a suggestive glance at this point – "In action."

"It's Colonel." Mac corrected, now just plain seething at the woman's blatant disregard for her, her uniform, the Marine Corps and the entire history of armed service in defence of one's country.

Renée flashed her perfect teeth at Mac, and then turned to Harm with a flirtatious lilt in her voice. "Bye, Harm."

And she was gone.

--

Harm glanced at Mac as Renée breezed out his door. He could feel the tension and anger emanating from Mac's tightly wound form. He tried to find a way to ease the strain that was laying siege to his office.

"It was nice of her to invite you." He offered tentatively, and immediately reconsidered the wisdom of saying anything. He doubted Mac's cold-induced irritation had dispelled, and he doubted further that being introduced to Renée had helped, let alone Renée's comments on blue uniforms and short skirts. He quickly bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the memory of Mac's face when Renée had let that one loose.

"I can't believe you had dinner with her." Her eyes followed Renée as she headed for the elevators.

"Mac." He warned. The last thing he needed was for her to transfer her anger at Renée's behaviour to him, and make a big deal of one ill-conceived dinner.

"She's wearing a fur coat, Harm." She kept watching Renée, and her anger transformed into a thoughtful expression.

The change in her demeanour caught him off guard. What was she thinking, he wondered.

He shrugged, and tried to justify himself and appease her. "Well, you can't judge—"

"You're vegetarian, Harm." She cut him off, finally turning to look at him.

"You eat meat." He replied immediately. Upset with her for making a big deal out of this. "That doesn't have me shunning you."

"There's a difference between eating meat for nourishment and wearing dead animals because it's a symbol of wealth and status." Her patience was wavering.

"Specious argument." He stated haughtily. "I'm vegetarian for lifestyle reasons."

"It is not a specious argument." She rebutted, arms firmly crossed in front of her. "And what do you mean lifestyle?"

"Healthy lifestyle." He raised an eyebrow, and mirrored her stance. "You wouldn't understand."

"I definitely don't understand you, that's for sure."

"Me?!" He scoffed. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Now she was getting defensive. And she was tapping her foot, which Harm knew from experience wasn't a good thing.

He reached into his repertoire, though not very far back, to this morning's meeting.

"One word, Mac: Brumby."

"Harm—" Her protest was immediate, her hands now on her hips.

"C'mon Mac." He interrupted. "Were you ever going to tell me! He's been emailing you!"

"I—"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." He accused, still not quite able to process this news. It galled him no end. He couldn't emphasize just how much Bugme rubbed him the wrong way. And then here she was, making a big deal out of Renée. He snorted at the thought.

"You don't tell me about everyone you keep in touch via email." She countered, anger sparked in her eyes. "And I wouldn't expect you to."

"So you weren't going to tell me." He knew it. Now he was pissed off. She actually wasn't going to tell him.

"That is not what I said." The look on her face would have reduced a lesser man back into primordial soup.

They glared at each other, until a knock sounded on Harm's office door, and Bud's muffled voice filtered through.

"I have work to do." She turned on her heel, jerked his door open, and left his office, sailing by a confused Bud.

Harm watched her go, embers of anger still burning dully in his gut. Well, he thought: that went well.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: As it stands, there are 20 parts. However, I am inordinately conflicted over how to divvy up the parts so we'll see what happens.

--

**Insights - Part 2**

Harm's Apartment  
Monday  
2045 Local

Properly amped up on cold meds, Mac felt better than she had all day. She eyed Harm's front door with some trepidation. Cold meds may have made her slightly more lucid, but they weren't the stuff of courage. She steeled her resolve, and knocked on the door.

The door swung open almost immediately to reveal a rather relieved looking Harm.

"I didn't think you'd come." He gave her a small smile, but she could see the caution in his eyes. He motioned for her to come in, and shut the door behind her. She draped her coat over the arm of his sofa, buying a bit more time before she had to face him.

"You're leaving tomorrow morning." She offered awkwardly. "I'd hate to leave things like that."

"This afternoon..." He trailed off. His glance dropped to the floor, and then flitted back to her, full of regret and uncertainty. "We always fight."

She shrugged, then looked him in the eye and tried to sound more sure than she felt.

"I was thinking about it. We have to learn to fight fair."

He studied her for a moment, then let out a deep breath, seeming to breathe easier. He nodded, and she saw a smile twinkle in his eye. The gesture was enough to alleviate the tension Mac had been feeling since she'd walked out his office that morning.

Mac sat down heavily on his couch. She glanced at Harm, trying to gauge how he'd react to her suggestion.

"Maybe we could take turns" She offered.

The corner of his lip curved up at that. "At giving in?" He said dryly. He took a seat on the couch beside her.

Mac rolled her eyes. "No, flyboy: at compromising."

Harm's smile widened, and he turned to face her. He draped his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers close enough to touch her. "So you do mean giving in."

Mac turned to face him, taking his hand in hers. "Be serious," She admonished gently.

They shared a smile. Hers was the first to fade. She looked at their clasped hands.

"Maybe we could learn to negotiate," She offered.

"Like plea bargaining?" Harm put his free hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing light circles on the fabric of her jeans.

"Like." Mac shrugged as she traced patterns on the back of his hand while she held it.

Harm pursed his lips thoughtfully, and nodded.

"Worth a shot." He concluded. "After all, we are lawyers by day."

"Alright," Mac stated decisively, though still partially distracted with tracing patterns on his skin. She looked up at him as a thought occurred. "Umm. We need to test it out."

Harm grinned and tugged at her hand, drawing her closer to him. "You want me to pick a fight with you, French fry?"

Mac laughed.

"Maybe you could tie a string around your finger" She raised his hand and gently shook it. "Just as a reminder the next time we fight."

Harm scoffed as he pulled his hand out of her grasp, wrapped it around her waist and drew her even closer to his side. "Please. I could negotiate life out of the very jaws of death. I don't need reminding."

Mac rolled her eyes as she leaned into his side. She drew one leg up on the couch, sitting as close as she could be to him without actually sitting on his lap. "Maybe we should work on the arrogance thing, too." She teased.

Harm grinned, rubbing his nose lightly along hers. He ducked in for a quick kiss. "I can think of better things to work on."

Mac was now rather familiar with that gleam in his eye.

"Really?" She did a fair imitation of a lazy drawl. She trailed a finger along his collarbone. "And what would that be?"

"Making up." Harm stated as if this was the obvious and only conclusion. He leaned in to kiss her jaw, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

"Good point." Mac sighed, resting her forehead against his jaw as his hand slipped beneath her shirt.

He paused suddenly. Mac looked up, wondering why he'd stopped. She found him watching her cautiously. He was studying her face, looking like he wanted to say something.

"What?" She asked, feeling his wariness seep through her skin.

"So no more emails from Brumby." It sounded a bit like a question, but his words held a firmness that was missing in his expression.

"Harm." She warned. "He was my partner for months. I consider him a friend."

"No, you don't." He declared with authority.

"Good god, Harm." She rolled her eyes, her warning now tinged with exasperation.

"Mac. He does not want to be just friends with you."

"No man does, right?" She replied, upset. She pulled away from him, and dropped her head back against the couch. "Are we back to that?"

"No, no we're not," He defended. He huffed his displeasure.

"Alright," She stated decisively, and turned to face him once again. "Let's try this bargaining, compromising thing."

She waited for his nod before continuing.

"Mic's been sending me a few emails since he returned to Australia. Stuff like the temperature down there, and invitations to come visit—"

"What?" Harm exploded, but was quickly silenced by the pointed glare she levelled his way.

"I was not planning on accepting," She stated, her tone and her expression firm. "Even before I came back from Germany."

"You weren't?" He searched her face for confirmation.

"I wasn't." She emphasized.

"Why?"

She took a deep breath, debating whether to continue. Harm would think her silly.

"After my Article 32 and Admiral's Mast, I swore off men." She braced herself for his teasing.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"They're nothing but trouble." She defended. "I did not want to get involved with anyone. And for all of Mic's overly flirtatious approach to the opposite sex, he is sweet and he is a good friend."

"Overly flirtatious approach to you, you mean. I don't like it."

"That is not compromising!" She exclaimed.

"It's your turn to compromise." He stated stubbornly.

She stared at him for a moment.

"You are a piece of work." She shook her head, both in disbelief and amusement.

"Hey," He exclaimed suddenly, and she knew he was trying to distract her from the matter at hand. "So your rule to swear off men doesn't apply to me?"

"I've learned that I have a very hard time abiding by the rules when it comes to you." She confessed with a touch of drama. She hoped he wouldn't see the truth behind her words, or the amount of concern it really caused her.

He grinned. "That statement has a lot of potential. Merits further investigation."

He unfastened another button on her shirt.

"Don't change the subject, and stop trying to distract me." She scolded him lightly, catching on to his stunt. "We're supposed to be compromising." She put in a half-hearted attempt at batting his hand away.

"The only thing I want to compromise is your state of dress," His fingers again reached for her shirt buttons, and a heated smile was levelled at her.

"Rabb," she warned.

He sighed, and dropped his hand. "Fine. I acknowledge that I may have overreacted."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," He huffed. "I did overreact. And you can be friends with Mic if you want."

Both her eyebrows shot up, and he hastened to recant his statement. "I mean, you don't need my permission to be friends with anyone, even if it's Mic or Pol Pot or the devil himself."

"Harm!" She pushed his shoulder, clearly exasperated. "You were doing so well until that last bit."

His cocky grin rushed to the fore. "I was, wasn't I?"

She laughed. "We definitely need to learn to work on the arrogance thing..." Mac trailed off breathlessly as Harm nuzzled her neck.

"Later?" His hands busied themselves with unbuttoning her shirt, his mouth with tasting her.

"Hmm." She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair.

She was all ready to get lost in his touch, when she remembered the second item that had led to their verbal sparring.

"Harm?" She didn't have the will to pull away from the wonderful things his lips were doing on her skin.

"Yeah?" He slipped his hands around her back, his mouth nibbling on the skin between neck and shoulder.

"You're going to have to go the reception for the recruitment commercial." She didn't have it in her to mention Renée. After all, it had only been one dinner; just as he'd said over the phone when she'd been in Germany. She'd overreacted. She blamed the cold. And – she thought of Renée's overt sexuality and blatant confidence – maybe it'd be better not to hear what he had to say on that front.

He stilled in his ministrations, and Mac bit back her momentary disappointment at the loss of sensation.

"I know," He rested his forehead against her shoulder, and sighed. "Unfortunately, I've been ordered to attend."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Harm." She caressed his face with the back of her fingers, offering some consolation.

"You're coming aren't you?" He pulled back to look at her.

"To protect you from the talent scouts? Of course."

"The benefits of dating a Marine: I get my very own bodyguard." He teased. His smile turned devilish. "And hey, don't forget to wear your blue uniform. Green is not your colour."

She punched him in the shoulder.

"Don't even joke about that," She admonished.

"Ow." He rubbed his arm, and then added, his grin not abating. "That was worth the pain. Tell you what Mac, for agreeing to be my bodyguard, I'll autograph a poster just for you." He gave his cockiest grin. "You can hang it in your bedroom, right in front of your bed. After all, if I remember, you are my hottest and most vocal fan..."

"On second thought, the talent scouts can have you."

"I'd rather have you scout my talents, French fry." He kissed her neck, his lips trailing along her collarbone, then along her jaw.

"Mm." She sighed as his hands reached her belt, and his teeth gently tugged her earlobe. She threaded her fingers through his hair, savouring how smooth the cool strands of his hair felt under her touch. "Impress me, Flyboy."

--

Harm's Apartment  
Tuesday  
0616 Local

Harm and Mac stood facing each other at his front door, just inside his apartment. Mac eyed his travel bag, which lay by his feet. She'd just come back, and he was going away on assignment. While she was stuck in freakin' Antarctica. She decided she was mad as hell at Mic. Big loser jerk.

And her stupid cold wasn't helping. If anything it'd gotten worst since last night. Well, maybe she should've rested, but it was a lot more fun making up with Harm. Damned meds weren't doing their job, is what. She'd woken up all congested, and her throat was a bit scratchy and she just wanted to crawl into bed with Harm and forget about the rest of the world.

She felt his warm hands snake around her waist, to her back, and pull her towards him, holding her close. Mac sighed as she looked up at Harm. She placed her hands on her chest, and decided she could grudgingly concede that if she couldn't be in bed with Harm, this position wasn't such a terrible one. If only he wasn't leaving.

"Will you miss me?" He smiled down at her wearing that look of warm affection, and suddenly Mac felt just a bit better.

"Like French fries would miss ketchup." She grinned widely up at him, and leaned up on her toes to kiss his chin. "Like Mushu would miss pork."

He laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling momentarily. His amusement, however, was quick to fade into reluctance as he watched her. Mac thought even he looked a bit upset.

"What?" She asked, trailing her fingers over his cheek.

"Even from half a planet away, Brumby can be a real pain in the ass." He tried to pass it off as a joke, but she knew he was being serious.

"Harm!" She warned, knowing how much Mic had always grated Harm. And vice versa. "Don't do anything stupid down there. I'd hate to have to come bail you out."

Harm broke into his full out grin, and slipped into flirt mode right in front of her eyes.

"Telling me that doing stupid things will have you hop a plane to come see me might not be the right way to go." His hands were slowly caressing her waist and lower back, and the caresses made Mac forget to come up with a witty retort.

Instead, she bit her lip, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She stood up once again on her toes, and kissed one corner of his mouth.

"You are too tall, Sailor." She whispered, kissing the other corner of his mouth. "All this standing up on my toes is making my calf muscles too bulky."

"I like women with overdeveloped calf muscles." He kissed her neck, her jaw. "Very sexy."

She laughed, and lowered her feet back to the ground.

"I'll call you." He said, sounding – to her mind – surprisingly forlorn. He rested his forehead against hers.

"I'll look forward to it." Her tone matched his.

"See you in a few days, Sarah." He mumbled against her lips, before kissing her.

"A few days, Harm." She echoed.

He took a step away from her, and picked up his travel bag. He was about to turn around and head out the door, when he suddenly stopped. He turned back around to face her.

"I almost forgot." He glanced up at her, his head bowed, looking oddly self-conscious.

"What?" She prodded gently, wondering if she should be worried by the hesitancy in his behaviour.

"I, uh, got something for you. I mean," He looked away, and then back at her, hastening to add, "Nothing major. Just, um, because we won't be, I mean..." He sighed. "I'm not very good at this." He admitted with mild embarrassment.

"I think you're great at it." Whatever 'it' was. She still had no clue, but she was finding this side of him very endearing and couldn't help but smile.

He dug into his jacket pocket.

"Here." He handed her a Snickers bar. "I uh, got it yesterday from the vending machine at work. Um, for you. Because you weren't feeling well."

She laughed in delight, warmed through and through by the gesture. She took the bar from him. "My favourite."

"I know." He smiled that endearing half-smile of his, cracking any restraint she may have had.

She took a quick step towards him, leaned up on her toes and kissed him with everything she had.

He looked slightly dazed when she was done. "Wow," His cocky grin was now back in place. "What would you have done if I'd bought you a king sized bar?"

She laughed, and pushed him towards the door. "Go on. You have a plane to catch."

With one last quick kiss, he turned and left. Mac closed the door behind him. She leaned against the heavy wood of the frame, feeling a giddy happiness as she looked at the chocolate bar in her hand. She could hear Harm whistling all the way down the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights - Part 3**

Sydney, Australia  
Wednesday  
0630 Local

Harm dialled Mac's number, mentally calculating the time difference in his head. Fourteen hours. She must be home from work by now.

The phone rang four times before she picked it up.

"Ello?" Came a rather stuffed up, congested response. He could barely recognize whose voice that was.

"Mac?" He asked, concerned.

His only response was a muffled mumble followed by a whopping sneeze.

"Mac: Are you there? Are you alright?"

Her cold must have really worsened. He'd bet she'd gone to work today – or was it yesterday – without wearing a scarf. Stubborn jarhead.

"Yed." Her answer was followed by the unappealing sound of her blowing her nose. Harm tried his best not to laugh, or at least not to let his laughter be heard by her. He could just picture how she looked right now: Nose red and raw, that cute frown of hers in place, the one that only surfaced when she was annoyed and uncomfortable. He'd bet she was wrapped in layers of flannel and cotton, too.

Unfortunately, the mental image was too much for him, and he couldn't conceal his laughter.

"Can it, dhailor." She warned. He just couldn't bring himself to take her seriously when she sounded so damn funny.

He laughed even harder.

"I'b goig to hag ub." She threatened.

"Alright, alright." He took a calming breath. "I'll stop. Don't hang up. I'm sorry you're feeling so horrible." He hoped she caught his sincerity.

"You hab no ibea." She sniffed, but her nose must have been really stuffed because it came out sounding like a snort. He was having a hard time understanding what she was trying to say. He was having an even harder time not giving in to his laughter. A grouchy Mac was always entertaining.

"If I was there I'd make you chicken soup." He offered, trying to be supportive. He knew from experience she'd have no qualms about hanging up on him if she found him to be too annoying over the phone.

"Widh real chicked?" She sounded charmingly hopeful.

He chuckled. "Yeah, of course with real chicken."

She sneezed once again, and blew her nose. He listened to her struggle, and decided he really couldn't help himself when it came to teasing her.

"But since I'm not there to make you soup, how about I bring you some sand from the beach, instead? Nothing like dipping your toes in it..."

"I hate you. I'b haggig ub."

He smiled, though she couldn't see. He was absolutely nuts about the woman on the other end of the line. He missed her. He wished he really was at home, so he could make her chicken soup.

"Seriously, Mac. Take some Vicks and get some rest." And, now that he thought about it, if he was home he could've rubbed Vicks all over her chest. That would've been nice...

"I'b trying. Wib you and Bub gond, I hab egdra work to do."

Her incomprehensible words pulled Harm from his idle fantasy of a topless Mac. He had to pause to try and process her response. He had no idea what she was saying.

"I don't think I understand what you're saying." He said apologetically. "Could you repeat that?"

He heard her sigh heavily.

"I'b goig to bed, ab feeling bery dhorry for bythelf."

It took a supreme effort to bite back his laughter. He had no clue what she was saying. He settled for the safe response.

"Sleep tight, French fry."

"Whateber."

She hung up, and he laughed as he listened to the line disconnect. The silence that replaced the sound of her – admittedly heavy and stuffed up – voice was disheartening.

Dumbass Bugme. It was that ass's fault he wasn't home with Mac. They couldn't even talk because she wasn't feeling well. He couldn't even tend to her, and get his proper reward for it once she was all better. He returned the phone to its cradle before heading out of his quarters to face the day and the annoying Australian. He didn't bother taming his frustration or irritation at the other man; he saw no reason to.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

A/N: Thanks for your reviews! You guys rock.

--

**Insights Part 4**

Bella Bistro  
Falls Church  
Friday  
1215 Local

"You seem to be feeling better," Harriet said to Mac, as the waiter placed their lunch orders on the table.

Mac picked up her fork, and found herself grinning. "I am. Some Vicks and a lot of rest did the trick."

"There's something else, too." Harriet continued, shaking her head when the waiter offered her a pepper mill.

"What do you mean?" Mac asked, only partly attentive to Harriet's words given the gorgeous steak salad that had been deposited in front of her. She'd been craving red meat something fierce, now that she could actually taste food again.

"You seem happier, somehow." Harriet said, once the waiter had walked away.

Mac looked up from mixing her salad, slightly startled.

Harriet gave her a mischievous look, inviting confidence, "Are you seeing someone new?"

Mac hesitated before answering. She wasn't exactly used to talking about her personal life with anyone. But this was Harriet: the first real female friend she'd ever had.

"Yes and no?" She finally offered, knowing her answer was as cryptic as it was honest.

Harriet frowned, a spoonful of soup poised in midair

"Yes and no?" She echoed.

"I am seeing someone," Mac elaborated. "He's just not so new, not really."

Harriet's frown deepened, and it was her turn to hesitate. "Mic?"

Mac choked on a lettuce leaf, appalled that Harriet would even think such a thing. She took a quick sip of her water and regained her equilibrium.

"God no!" She told Harriet, emphatic in her denial. "Why would you think that?"

"Bud mentioned something on the phone..." Harriet began.

Figures, Mac thought. Her stupid slip in the admiral's office.

"Not Mic Brumby." Mac stated emphatically, cutting off that line before Harriet could pursue it.

Harriet looked slightly apologetic, but no less curious. "Well, who else is 'not so new, not really'?"

Mac had to laugh at Harriet's parroting of her rather vague response.

"Harm." She confessed, and couldn't help but smile as she spoke his name.

It was Harriet's turn to choke on her lunch. "The Commander?"

Mac nodded, waiting for her friend's full reaction. Harriet was silent for a few moments while she pondered the news.

"Wow. Really." She finally said, still looking thoughtful and not really reacting.

Mac couldn't help her disappointment, or her wonder at that response.

"'Wow. Really'? That's it?" She replied, shaking her head. In Mac's mind, her relationship with Harm had, from its very early stages, seemed to be this paradox of inevitability and impossibility. A bit like those cartoons where a character jumps off the roof of a high-rise and dives right into the glass of water positioned on the sidewalk. When the inevitable impossible was realized, not only could she not really compute it – she still resisted the urge to pinch herself – but she really expected everyone else to react with a bit more than just 'Wow. Really?'

"I'm trying to process," Harriet defended herself.

Mac waited patiently, making some inroads into her salad while Harriet mulled the one major development in her personal life. She silently submitted to giving her lunch companion time to process. It was to be expected, after all. Hell, she was still trying to process, and it was her personal life they were talking about.

"I guess I always thought this would happen." Harriet revealed when Mac was about two-thirds through her salad. Well, two-thirds through the meat in her salad.

Mac looked up, surprised. "You did? Really?"

She hadn't expected that. Not that she'd known what she'd expected.

Harriet looked like she was about to say something, but hesitated. Mac gave her an encouraging nod, more than mildly curious about what Harriet was thinking, whatever it was.

"Well, in some way." Harriet said slowly. A teasing grin broke free across her features, "But, to be perfectly honest, I thought you'd both be 70 before you two decided you were ready to settle down."

"We're not that bad." Mac defended, although she wasn't entirely convinced she disagreed. 'Settle down'. It was interesting choice of words. Before Mac could give it more thought, Harriet continued.

"If you say so." Harriet said in that way mastered only by people in long-term relationships who were talking to either their single or newly-coupled friends. Harriet paused, observing Mac over a spoonful of soup. "So what's he like?"

"Harriet!" Mac again choked on her salad.

Harriet mirrored Mac's expression of horror, although she looked amused as well.

"I don't mean like that!" Harriet exclaimed, close to laughing with embarrassment. "I mean, you know, as a boyfriend."

"Oh." Mac paused over the word 'boyfriend' – she hadn't quite thought of it that way. She realized that she hadn't really thought about much of anything. Good lord. She hoped she knew what she was doing.

"Is he thoughtful? Romantic?" Harriet continued.

Mac smiled softly as she remembered how Harm had been acting around her lately. A warm giddiness overtook her."Romantic; well it hasn't been all that long, but I think so. Thoughtful; yes. Definitely."

"You sound surprised." Harriet observed.

"Not surprised ... It's just ... weird."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're friends with someone for so long, you only see them in a certain way, act a certain way...and now..." She trailed off, unsure how to explain.

"A lot of awkward moments?" Harriet said sympathetically. Mac remembered Harm's comment about Bud's awkwardness when he and Harriet had first begun dating, and knew Harriet's sympathy was likely to be genuine. She smiled at the thought.

"No, actually. At least he seems to be doing just great. Thriving. I'm trying to adjust to all of it. It's all so new. And it hasn't been all that long."

"What's there to adjust to?" Harriet shrugged. "Just enjoy it."

Mac shook her head, lost deep in thought. Truth be told, there were times when she thought that what she had with Harm had the potential to be so absolutely perfect, that she could only marvel at it. And at other times – like following that disagreement at JAG – she worried they'd moved too fast. Maybe they should've waited, taken things slowly, dated ... But the way he'd looked at her over her kitchen sink that night ... It was ... She just ... Mac sighed.

She may be immune to his charms and his smile, but she was definitely not immune to that expression he sometimes wore when he looked at her, or how tenderly affectionate he was with her, or how his touch felt on her skin, how it made her feel.

But it was that very affection, that indescribable depth in his eyes ... That kind of thing never lasted, did it? Mac glanced at Harriet, hesitating.

"What is it?" Harriet frowned in concern.

"I've never really felt comfortable with this kind of thing." She'd meant to say she wasn't used to it, but she wasn't so sure she was ready to share that kind of honesty with anyone. "And coming from Harm, on top of that..."

"'This kind of thing'? What do you mean?"

The question itself made Mac uneasy, and she wished they'd never walked the conversation down this path. She shrugged in response to Harriet's unsettling query. Then again, it wasn't as though she had many female friends. Maybe this is just what girl talk was: uncomfortable and exposing.

"Maybe you're thinking too much." Harriet waved her spoon knowingly. "You have to go with the cliché and follow your heart."

Mac played with the salad on her plate. Follow her heart. She sighed.

"No, I mean, it just…feels off. It's not like him." She wondered if she'd be feeling this same way if he was at JAG right now, if she were going home with him tonight.

Harriet cocked her head to the side, trying to follow Mac's train of thought.

"This is Harm we're talking about." Mac elaborated, knowing that would be saying enough.

"That's true." Harriet conceded. "But he is sweet and kind and generous."

"He is. He is. But I can't help but feel that it's that time you know, when everything is new and wonderful. The newness will fade, and then..." The conversation she had with Jordan came back at alarming speed. Hot new romance. She wondered if they'd make it beyond that stage. She hadn't ever seen Harm move beyond it, to the point where he was actually willing to merge his life with another's. And she'd tried to with Dalton, but the results had been terrible. She'd decided then that she wasn't very good at it either.

"He's the same Harm." Harriet pointed out.

"It just doesn't feel like he is." Mac said, helpless to make herself comprehensible.

"I don't understand."

"I'm worried he's doing all this without really thinking it through." Even as she said it, Mac felt as though she was shining a light in a dark corner she'd avoided even looking at since Harm had kissed her for the first time by her sink.

"What do you mean?" Harriet's confusion only made Mac feel worse for talking about this.

"Like long term … Harriet, you know Harm. Can you picture him in a 'relationship' relationship?" The words tasted wrong, like they didn't fit.

"Well…" Harriet began, and then trailed off. She gave Mac a look that was half understanding, half solidarity. The answer was evident to both of them.

"Neither can I … I don't know, I…" Mac stopped, giving a sudden sheepish smile. She and Harm had only been involved for the space of a week, and she was already leaping into a well of worry. "I'm jumping ahead quite a bit, aren't I?"

"Just a little." Harriet agreed, trying to hide a smile of her own.

They shared a laugh.

"You never know, he may surprise you." Harriet offered, once they'd tamed their amusement. She sounded like she thought him capable of it. But this was Harriet. Mac thought her to be a true romantic at heart and a definite optimist. Maybe if she was lucky, Harriet's positive attitude would rub off on her.

"He has so far, I'll give him that." Mac smiled at Harriet over her glass of water.

"Have you had your first fight yet?"

She shook her head. "Not the first real fight." She shrugged. "We're still at the new and wonderful stage."

"What do you mean 'real' fight?"

"Well, there was a, um, a minor kerfuffle my first day back, but it isn't like we haven't been at odds before. Disagreements are a way of life between the two of us."

Harriet laughed. "That's true. But the first 'real' fight is always the worst," She cautioned.

"I know." She sighed. "I'm not looking forward to it." Mac didn't know if they'd make it through unscathed to the other side. Not when they were so used to arguing with each other, each trying to get the upper hand. They also had substantial fodder for quarrel in their shared past – the Mic/Renée argument was proof enough of that. Her greatest worry, though, was that they hadn't really talked to each other, communicated the important things. Whatever those were. Or was she just getting ahead of herself yet again?

"You've fought before, so you have a reference point." Harriet was saying.

Mac gave her table companion a sceptical look. "I doubt that'll help."

"Just enjoy the wonderful newness of it, Mac."

Mac smiled at Harriet, a genuine smile that inevitably surfaced these days when she thought of Harm. It made every part of her simply glow. "I am."

--

Mac's Apartment  
Saturday  
0204 Local

The loud blare of the phone pierced through the silence in Mac's apartment, and she woke with a start. She blinked a few times to orient herself. Living room. She'd fallen asleep in the living room.

The phone blared again, and Mac groaned as her hand fumbled over the coffee table for the cordless phone. She'd been waiting, or rather hoping, for Harm to call. She'd bet good money that was him. At times like this, she wished she knew how her time thing worked, just so that she could teach him some modicum awareness that would prevent him from forgetting about such things as time zones, even when his concentration was knee deep in his work.

Her hand finally fell on the phone, and she connected the line.

"H'lo." She mumbled.

"Hey, Mac" He sounded too cheery by far.

"Sailor." She greeted, rubbing her eyes and sitting up straight.

"Sorry I didn't call yesterday." He continued blithely. "Was working on the case..." He trailed off, and Mac waited for it to register. "Oh, crap. It's really late isn't it?"

"Don't worry about it." She yawned. It was wonderful to hear his voice.

"Did I wake you?" His concerned voice came through the line. "I didn't realize—"

"Harm!" She interrupted, before they spent half the call with him apologizing. "Don't worry about it. How is the case going?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"I'm going to whip Brumby's sorry six." He finally stated, his arrogance in full flight.

She laughed, "I don't doubt it. Are you playing nice with Mic?"

Another pause was her response. Mac thought she ought to start worrying about what exactly was going on down there, but she was still half asleep and feeling too drowsy to bother with paying attention to the silences.

"Let's not talk about work, Mac." He finally answered.

She shrugged, and sat up a bit straighter so she wouldn't fall asleep on him.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, for starters, you sound much better." This time, there was no pause.

"And I feel it." Mac replied.

"Thank goodness." He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I won't have to hear you whine about your cold anymore."

"Watch it." She warned. She was awake enough to know when he was needling her.

"You know, Mac," His tone was all pedantic condescension, "If you drank a shot of wheatgrass every morning like I do, along with that tar you call coffee, you're immune system wouldn't fall prey to a simple cold."

Mac bit back a groan, and dropped her head back onto the headrest. Why her? First he wakes her up at 0204, and then he lectures her about disgusting wheatgrass mumbo jumbo. That stuff was green. And bilious.

"I'll make a double serving from now on," He went on, "Then you can have a shot of it in the mornings too."

"You do that and I'll change the locks to my apartment." She threatened. "You won't be getting a key."

She was being perfectly serious, but he still laughed.

"So, how was your day?" He asked, his tone warm.

"I had lunch with Harriet."

"How is she doing? And little AJ?"

"They're fine. She, ah, said that I seemed happier, somehow." Mac couldn't help the smile that shone somewhere in her heart. "Asked if I was seeing someone new."

She could actually hear his cocky grin from down under. "Yeah? Then I must be doing something right."

Mac rolled her eyes, but brightened when she saw her chance to bring his arrogance down a peg.

"She thought I was seeing Mic."

"What!" He exclaimed.

Mac laughed heartily. Revenge was sweet. "Don't worry, I set her straight on that count."

"Harriet really thought that?" He sounded insulted, Mac thought. She realized that maybe teasing Harm about this wasn't the wisest idea when she was so far away, and Mic was so near. Not to 

mention that they were facing off in court. God knows the man's pride was as big as his ego. And Mic's pride was nothing to sneeze at either.

"I'm just teasing Harm." She placated. "We both know she much prefers you. And so do I, for that matter," She added in a playful tone.

"Well, Harriet does have good taste." He seemed to be back at ease, but another thought occurred to her. It was something she'd meant to ask him.

"Listen, I know we didn't really talk about telling anyone or not, beyond informing the admiral. And we were busy with other things the night before you left, so we didn't really discuss it then either."

"That was a fun night." He said in a low, intimate tone.

"Focus, Harm." She laughed, and he joined in.

"It's okay, Mac." He replied, once he was done chuckling. "It is Harriet, after all; you guys are close. Besides, I know you women need to satisfy your urge to gossip."

She scoffed. "You don't even have the guts to say that to my face."

"I don't know." His tone turned teasing, "With all the topless beaches they have down here, I feel like I could be brave enough to do just about anything."

"Harmon Rabb!" She couldn't help her laughter. "Speaking of topless beaches and errant Navy officers, Harriet mentioned Bud's slip at lunch."

"Did she, now." His curiosity was piqued. "Was she upset?"

"Nah. We had a good laugh over it."

"I won't tell Bud," He was smiling. "Let him sweat it out."

"How kind of you."

"I try."

"So, the weather's great down there, is it." She knew she sounded wistful, but she couldn't help herself.

"Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning." He was teasing her.

"You can stop now." Mac warned firmly.

"Mind-blowing..."

"I should've asked the admiral if I could've accompanied the body down there, returned Dunsworth to his country." She said, not really sure if she regretted her decision not to go down. Going to the beach would've been nice and seeing Harm even nicer, but both had drawbacks.

"Why didn't you?" Harm perked up.

"And have to take up Mic's offers for a day at Manley Beach while you got into investigative mode and forgot about the rest of the world? I'm not so sure." She definitely wasn't about to be a lit match to that disastrous powder keg.

"Hey, I'm not that bad." Harm defended, addressing only the second part of her comment. She thought, however, that she detected some relief in his tone, and she felt better about her decision not to go.

"Yes you are," She affirmed gently, "And it's what makes you such a great attorney."

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"

Mac grinned at his predictability. Where to start, she pondered.

"Let's see. It's Saturday, 1622 in Sydney. So I'd say you spent the whole day sniffing out leads on your case, skipped lunch and are now eating a quick spinach salad before you start preparing for court on Monday. And let's not forget that you even forgot about the time difference."

He laughed a bit sheepishly. "I think, Colonel, that you know me too well."

"Intimately." It was her turn to lower her voice to a suggestive timber.

"I like the sound of that." He voice was smooth and warm. Mac's smile only deepened.

There was a long silence, in which she savoured this thing between them. She realized that he probably had to finish his late lunch and get back to work.

"So, I guess I'll let you get back to preparing for court and eating your greens." She ended the conversation. "Thank you for calling, Harm. It was good to hear your voice."

"Hold on," He cut in quickly. "I'm only due in court on Monday, and I had a very productive morning. I'm not working on anything at the moment: I have a lot of time."

"To do what exactly?" She bit back her grin.

"Talk to you, of course." His voice held that same tenderness that was often in his eyes when he looked at her. "Shoot the breeze."

She didn't say anything for a moment, just enjoyed the warmth that was spreading from her fingers right down to her toes just from hearing him say that, "Shoot the breeze, huh? What about?"

"The usual," He stretched out his words, ticking off the possibilities. "What the weather's like in DC, what you're up to, how Jingo's doing, what you had for dinner..."

"Okay, I'll bite." She laughed. "Well, it feels like minus 40 out. I have the fireplace on. Jingo's dozing. I ate the leftovers from our last dinner together."

"That's good." He paused, and she waited for him to evaluate his game plan. He didn't disappoint. "What're you wearing?"

Mac grinned. The heart of the matter. She looked down at her most comfortable pyjamas.

"Well, it's quite warm in here with the fire going. I'm wearing that short red nightgown. Sheer. The one I wore the last time you spent the night at my place, you remember: it matches my fire engine red toenails."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. "You always bury yourself under that ridiculously thick comforter of yours, and I have to turn up the heat when you come over to my place, desert rat. You're wearing your cowboy pyjamas, aren't you?"

"Spoilsport." She laughed.

"You look really good in those pyjamas." He said slowly, a hint of seduction in his voice.

"Really?" She was surprised to hear him say that.

"Definitely. All covered up. Begging to be slowly undressed," His tongue caressed the words, and Mac curled her toes, digging them into the sofa cushion. "One button at a time."

She noticed a theme. He hadn't been able to keep away when she'd worn the wrap-around dress. And now the buttons on her pyjama top. She wondered how he felt about zippers.

"Is this going to be one of those conversations?" Her tone held a soft teasing. She bit her lip. "Should I turn off the lights?"

"Damn straight it is, French Fry: I'm not wearing anything."

She couldn't stop the giggle that escaped, and switched off the lamp beside her as she settled into the couch to savour the sweet seduction of his lulling voice.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights - Part 5**

Mac's Apartment  
Wednesday  
1832 Local

Mac rushed into her apartment, and picked up the phone just before the machine caught it. She hoped it was Harm. She hadn't heard from him since the admiral had flown down to Australia on Sunday night – something about needing to personally tend to a matter relating to the case. The admiral hadn't been too clear on the details before his sudden departure.

In any case, she hadn't heard from Harm since. She figured he'd really gotten involved in his case. Besides which, with the admiral, Harm and Bud all out of the office, she'd had a hell of a lot of work to do and very little time to herself.

"Hello?" She said into the receiver.

"Hey, Mac." Harm's voice came through the line. He sounded harried.

"Harm—"

"Listen," He interrupted quickly, "I don't have much time to talk. Leaving for the airport. Flight lands late tomorrow night, Dulles. Tiner has the info. Can you tell Harriet? Bud can't talk on the phone." He rushed out his sentences, each word clipping the heels of the next.

A flag went off in Mac's mind: Bud talked to Harriet every chance he got. Especially since he was still trying to make amends for the breast comment.

"Wait." Mac cut in quickly, before he hung up. "Why can't he talk on the phone? Is Bud alright? And the admiral? What aren't you telling me?"

There was a very pregnant pause on the other end of the line.

"It's, uh, nothing." His words were as slow and hesitant as they'd been fast a moment ago.

She knew that tone: he was hiding something.

"Harm..." Mac began, but wasn't given a chance to continue.

"Miss you, bye!" He hung up.

Mac stared at the phone. What on earth was that about? Something smelled fishy.

--

Dulles Airport  
Thursday  
2152 Local

Mac and Harriet waited patiently for their ostensibly better halves to emerge through the arrivals gate.

"Why wouldn't Bud call me? Why did he have the Commander call you with the flight information?" Harriet asked as she scanned the crowd. Her worry was evident.

"I don't know, Harriet." Mac patiently answered. Harriet had asked the same question five times since they'd met just outside the arrivals gate.

"You think I was too hard on him about the breast slip?" She was frowning now, and looked anxious. Mac tried her best to placate her.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with that, Harriet."

Any further attempts Mac could have made at assuaging Harriet's worry were interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure heading towards them.

"Admiral, Sir." Mac and Harriet echoed.

"Colonel, Lieutenant," The admiral greeted them amiably as he came to stand in front of them. Mac thought she caught a hint of amusement in his placid gaze, but was at a loss to explain it. An amused admiral was rarely a good thing. She sometimes thought he had the oddest sense of humour.

He studied them both for a moment, rocking back on his heels. Mac and Harriet exchanged a worried glance.

"Have a good time with this one." He finally said in that knowing way of his, the one that inevitably caused Mac to worry. It didn't help that she got the distinct impression he was addressing her. And with those words, he was off.

Mac and Harriet watched him walk away. They shared identical expressions of confusion, wondering what that statement could possibly mean.

Mac broke their gaze and looked towards the gate when she felt a comforting warmth of awareness. There, she caught sight of Harm emerging through the gates. The familiarity of his easy, confident strut sparked something inside of her, and she wished but for a moment that Harriet and Bud weren't also here, so that she could give in to the absolutely juvenile urge to run right into his embrace, wrap her arms around his neck, and give him over a week's worth of kisses.

That urge faded as soon as she noticed the slight hesitance in his step when he caught her eye, and the wariness that overcame his expression. He looked worried, if not actually afraid. He was a few feet from her now, close enough for her to notice the slight bruising on his face.

She could only stare at him. Bruises? When had this happened? He hadn't mentioned a thing over the phone. She walked quickly towards him, bridging the distance that separated them.

"Harm! What happened to your face?" She cupped his jaw with her hand. It seemed to her that his wariness increased tenfold at her comment, so she decided to try for some levity to put him at ease. "You look like you went two rounds with Mike Tyson." She ran her fingers gingerly over his bruises. He kept watching her, affection, heat and that inexplicable wariness all battling for supremacy.

"Bud!" She heard Harriet's distressed cry, and looked to see Bud standing in front of wife. His jaw was wired shut.

Mac's eyes widened. What on earth had happened to these two?

"Are you alright, Bud?" Mac asked, knowing how much pain and discomfort he must be in.

Bud glanced at Harm his wariness mirroring his mentor's. He finally said that he was fine, his syllables mumbled and running into each other as he spoke through his wired jaw.

And suddenly the pieces clicked into place.

Mac turned on Harm, hands on her hips, suspicious glare firmly set.

"What did you do?" She wasn't sure she wanted to hear an answer.

"What?" Harm said, much too defensively. "Why would you think I did anything?"

--

Harm shifted uncomfortably under Mac's angry intensity, now being directed at him full force. He resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He couldn't help but notice that Harriet was fawning over Bud.

"He gets special treatment, and I get my head on the chopping block." His words fell flat. Mac's expression did not change. If this hadn't had been partially his fault, he would've been offended that she'd immediately assumed it was his fault.

"What happened, Harm?" She repeated, this time her words tinged with just a smidge of exasperation.

"Mmmd mmm mmm mmm" Bud interceded on Harm's behalf.

Mac stared at him, then at Harm.

"You tried to punch Mic?" She looked like she couldn't wrap her mind around the concept.

Harm was startled. Figures. She could tell time without a watch, and understand 'jaw-wired-shut' in addition to Russian and Farsi.

"You understood that?" He tried to distract her with the first words that came to mind. "How the hell?"

"Don't change the subject." She wasn't budging.

"Mm mm mmmm mmm." Bud again put in his two cents.

Mac's eyes widened, her jaw dropped. She pointed one slim, accusatory finger at Harm.

"You stripped blouses with Mic!" She exclaimed, now fully exasperated. She lowered her voice to a hiss so that Bud and Harriet couldn't hear. "Harm! I specifically told you not to do anything stupid."

"Mac, I was ordered to..."

She ignored him, and turned instead to the junior officer.

"Bud, are you alright? Really?"

"Mm mmmm mmm" He replied. Harm tried desperately to understand what the man was saying, but this was beyond him.

"I'm sorry, Bud." She said, genuinely repentant. "I remember some of the tricks for making a pretty decent liquid diet, from when my dad's jaw was wired shut for three months."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Harriet glanced uncertainly at Bud. "I think we'll take you up on that."

"If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate." Mac threw Harm another irate scowl.

"Mm mmmm mmmm mm." Bud looked to be pleading with her, if his expression was anything to go by. Harriet just watched on, worried and confused in equal measure.

Mac's expression hardened at Bud's words, and Harm noted the glint in her eye with some degree of trepidation.

"Don't worry about him, Bud." She clipped out her reply, not looking at Harm. Bud paled, and glanced quickly at Harm.

"Mmm mmm mm mmm." He sounded anxious, and Harm wondered what he was telling Mac now.

Mac stared at Bud, then at Harm. She did not look happy.

"Mmm mmm mm." Again, that pleading note.

"No, I won't hurt him." She assured Bud. Harm breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Much." She added.

So much for that, Harm thought. He wasn't looking forward to this.

"Have a good night, Bud, Harriet. I'm taking George Foreman home." She latched onto Harm's arm and led him out of the airport.

The last thing Harm saw before the sliding doors closed on him was Harriet and Bud exchanging a worried look. He shared in their sentiment.

She didn't say a word the entire way home, and when she parked her corvette in front of his apartment, he wasn't sure she'd come up with him. To his relief, she shut the engine and silently followed him into the building, up the elevator and to his front door.

He held the door open for her, and once she entered she turned on him, arms crossed and frown in place. He quickly closed the front door and tried to find something to say to mitigate the impending blow-up. Hell, he'd been trying to think of ways to mitigate it the entire journey back. To his utter surprise, she stepped into him and enveloped him in a tight hug.

"I missed you," She mumbled into his shoulder.

"God, I missed you, Mac." He couldn't put his relief into words that she was holding him like this. He'd been waiting to have his six torn to shreds. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her firmly.

Just as suddenly, the hug ended and she pulled away from him, her arms once again crossed over her chest, and frown back in place.

"Now. What the hell were you thinking?" Her tone was a mix of disbelief and frustration.

Harm looked at her in complete confusion. What the hell was happening here?

"Uh..."

"Hitting Mic!"

Oh. So she was mad at him. He glanced down at his now empty arms. But the hug. This woman was a complete enigma...

"Harm!"

His head shot up, his attention focused on the woman standing in front of him. What had she asked him? Right. What had he been thinking.

Thing was, he hadn't exactly been thinking when he first launched his fist towards Brumby's face, not all that rationally at least. He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, but she didn't give him a chance.

"I thought the admiral went down there because of the case, but he actually went there to discipline you!" Exasperation edged out over frustration. Harm winced.

"Did you chew out your six about you and me?" She asked, waving a hand between them.

Harm's mouth opened before his brain had fully processed the questions, or the implications of his response.

"Um, well, define 'chew out your six'." His mouth tentatively offered.

She rolled her eyes, threw her hands in the air and huffed.

"Just great. Just freaking great." She turned that accusatory glare back on him. "First he finds us necking in his guest room—"

"Allegedly," He interrupted, "Allegedly necking." He was quickly silenced by her torrent of words.

"And then we have a fight on my first day back at JAG—"

"Which he knows nothing about." Harm tried again, and was again ignored by her.

"And we pretty much avoided each other the entire day. And then on your first," She raised her index finger for emphasis. "First assignment, you go and punch opposing counsel! Who happens to be my former partner! After I mention in front of the admiral – stupidly, might I add, what the hell was I thinking? – that said partner has been relentlessly sending me emails!"

He didn't have any response to that, so he stayed quiet. He tried to hide the sudden amusement he was finding in her reaction – her overreaction he thought – to this situation.

"And the admiral actually flew all the way down there and ordered you to strip blouses!" She continued, oblivious to him. "And Bud thinks you were fighting because of me!"

So that's what Bud had told her at the airport. If not for the fact that he owed Bud a huge apology, he'd have had his hide for spilling that bit to Mac. And they hadn't tried to deck each other because of Mac. Well, not entirely. Maybe. Oh, who was he kidding. Jerk ass Brumby could only make so many veiled comments Harm was sure referred to her, and not-so veiled comments on how he'd get her down there to visit so he could rub her up with sunscreen, before Harm gave up trying to act civilized with the brute.

"God knows what the admiral makes of all this!" Mac continued, and Harm focussed his attention on her. "We are so screwed."

She paused for a breath, and seemed to deflate. He waited for her to run completely out of steam.

"This is just terrible, Harm. He's either going to ship one or both of us out. The appearance..." She trailed off and plopped down on his couch, burying her face in her hands. "What were you thinking?"

"It's not that bad, Mac." He said, trying to make her feel better now that her rant was exhausted. He approached her carefully, and took a seat next to her on the couch. "The admiral knows Brumby and I don't get along. Never have. This was a long time coming. I doubt he even thought it had a thing to do with you."

That, Harm thought, might not be the whole truth. The admiral was nothing if not perceptive. That's all Harm could think of to justify the form of his and Brumby's non-judicial punishment. Admittedly, it felt damn good to rip into Brumby without having to worry about the consequences. But Mac didn't need to know any of that; in fact, he doubted she'd understand it.

She looked at him, scepticism painted over her entire bearing.

"It was a long time coming," He defended. "Besides, the Admiral's been calling me a hothead since my first day at JAG. I have a reputation to protect," He grinned, trying for levity, and rubbed his hand along her back.

She directed a half-hearted glare at him. "Stop kidding around, this is serious."

"Mac, I already served non-judicial punishment. There's nothing left to worry about. The admiral isn't going to transfer either one of us out."

"How do you know?" She was as close to pouting as he'd ever seen her. He couldn't help but smile: she was so damn irresistible. And sexy. He was having a hard time keeping his touch comforting, and not sensual.

"I just do." He stated.

"That's a terrible answer." A small smile peaked out through her exasperation.

He grinned in response.

"Trust me." He said easily, his arrogance back in place now that he'd emerged relatively unscathed from Mac's wrath.

She rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Mac." He ran his finger along the curve of her cheek. "Trust me."

"You know I do." She looked up at him, and he knew he was almost through. "So you're not worried?"

"Not for a moment." He asserted.

She was still worried, though her expression had shifted almost imperceptibly. She was studying him intently.

"What?"

She shook her head lightly, and leaned back into the couch. His hand fell to her leg.

"I can't believe you'd take a swing at Mic like that." She said slowly, after a moment's silence. "I know he got under your skin from the get-go, but this..."

He sensed that wasn't what she was really thinking about, what she really wanted to ask him. He realized that she hadn't directly asked him if the fight had anything to do with her, and he hadn't addressed the issue either.

He looked away, having nothing to say. He'd never before just stopped thinking and punched a guy because of a woman. He was a bit ashamed of himself, though he'd never admit it, especially never to Mac – if anyone asked, Brumby was just annoying and smug and irritating and they'd never gotten along. She'd kill him if she even suspected he'd lost his head like that because that asshole had Mac in his sights.

He was just so damn disrespectful. And presumptuous. And an asshole.

"I have to find a way to apologize to Bud." He said instead of addressing her statement. The fact that Harm's punch landed on Bud's jaw was just plain shameful, and not something he thought he'd ever forget or stop feeling guilty over.

"You do." She agreed. "Big time."

He was relieved to see the worry fade from her expression. Mac reached out her hand, her fingers lightly tracing the bruise forming over his cheek.

"Does it hurt?" She asked gently.

Harm couldn't help but smile at her. Finally, some TLC.

"Nah, Brumby punches like a girl." He replied, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into him. He shifted them until she was sitting on top of him, and he was stretched out on his couch.

"Pack away the machismo, sailor." She said, laughing. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. His slid down to her waist.

"Welcome home." She kissed him, and his relief that the dreaded conversation was over made his entire body loosen. Any remaining tension just slipped away.

"I'm sorry I laid into you first thing." She added, pulling back slightly.

He shrugged to dismiss her apology, and sought out another kiss. There was the slight chance that he might have deserved it, although she didn't need to know that. Besides, he did get that hug first. The memory of it had him grinning: laying into him, hugging him like he was the most important person on earth, and then laying into him again. He loved it.

"I missed you, MacKenzie." He studied her face, reacquainting himself with the soft glimmer of warmth in her eyes. He'd missed how she looked at him.

"I missed you too." She whispered, her lips placing a tender kiss on the bruise her fingers had traced moments ago. The soft touch wasn't nearly enough for him, and he reached in for a long, deep kiss.

"You're not worried anymore, right?" He pulled back to look at her, trying to tame his desire for just a moment. "About the admiral?"

"I am, but I'll live." For some reason he couldn't explain, he couldn't shake the impression that she was worried about more than the admiral and whatever she thought would face them at JAG on Monday.

"We're going to have to be extra good at work to make up for this." She affirmed, searching his face for agreement.

"Not a problem." He concurred readily, deciding not to dwell on whatever it was she wasn't telling him. He'd missed her too much to worry about it. He kissed her neck, and trailed his lips up to her ear. "As long as we can be wicked tonight."

Her giggle ended in a throaty sigh when his teeth latched onto her ear lobe.

"I'm counting on it, Sailor." She murmured.

He smiled into her skin, relieved he wasn't going to be in the dog house over what happened down under. He was fast becoming addicted to her taste, and he wouldn't have known what to do with himself if she'd gone home tonight.

--

_A few hours later._

From her position resting on his chest, Mac looked at Harm through sleepy eyes.

"Harm?" She mumbled, fighting a yawn.

"Hmm?" He replied lazily. Right now, he was sated and just damn content.

"I really did miss you. All of you, not just," She gave a hesitant nod to indicate his naked body under the sheets. "Um ... that part."

He laughed. "I know, French fry. I missed all of you, too."

Her eyes sparkled at the endearment. She settled next to him, her head on his shoulder and an arm wrapped around his torso.

He hugged her close, and laid a kiss in her hair, amused that she felt the need to clarify that point. Surprisingly, though, he was warmed that she did.

"Sweet dreams, Marine."

His only answer was her quiet, even breathing. He smiled to himself. He'd managed to tire her out. First time for everything.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights – Part 6**

Harm's Apartment  
Friday  
0233 Local

He glanced down at her, and admired how she looked while she slept. So calm and peaceful. So at odds with the fiery, no-nonsense way she'd stared him down just a few hours earlier.

A smile took over Harm's face. It transformed into a grin, and then a low chuckle. He laughed.

He had to tell someone, he was just bursting at the seams from having to keep to himself the wonder of him and her and this incredible thing he felt whenever she was near. He considered just wandering down the street and telling the first person he saw, but that was a pretty terrible idea: it was late and given his neighbourhood he'd better not.

Who to tell, who to tell...

Inspiration struck: of course! He slowly disentangled himself from her warm hug – he almost reconsidered sharing his news because it meant having to get out of bed - picked the cordless phone and slipped on his boxers before heading to his living room. He dialled a number from memory and waited for three rings until a familiar voice sounded through the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Mom?" He repeated. "You there?"

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end inquired. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize your voice."

Harm sighed at his mother's dramatics. "Alright, I'm sorry I don't call more often."

"Harm!" She exclaimed with painful exaggeration. "Is that you! Oh my, I'd completely forgotten about you. How lovely to hear from you!"

Harm rolled his eyes. "Are you quite done."

"Not quite." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, let me know when you are. I've got some news to share." He said, unable to hide the smug satisfaction in his tone. His mother would be over the moon.

"What's wrong, honey?" The humour in his mother's voice was immediately replaced with concern.

"Nothing's wrong." He paused for effect. "I'm seeing someone." His grin was uncontrollable. He bit his tongue to keep his sheer glee from manifesting itself in an unmanly giggle.

There was a deafening silence on the other end, before his mother's voice tentatively asked: "You mean, like a psychiatrist?"

Harm choked on his euphoria. "What?! No!"

"I don't understand, Harm."

"I'm seeing someone, as in a woman. Not a shrink." He remembered Jordan. "And not a woman who's a shrink."

Another long silence hammered through the line.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?" Came her distracted reply.

"Say something." Why in hell was she acting so strange. She was supposed to be over the moon.

"I'm trying to understand what's going on here, Harm. Is everything okay?"

He suddenly realized what the problem was, and scoffed internally at his mother's train of thought.

"I don't only call you when things aren't okay, Mom." He was not that bad.

"No, not only." She conceded, before pointing out, "But usually. And you've never called just to tell me you're dating someone new. You do remember that I only found out about Jordan because she happened to pick up the phone." Her reminder was stern, and he felt just a little ashamed. That hadn't been one of his finer moments.

"That was different." He said defensively, in a habit as old as childhood.

"Why on earth—"

"Because she wasn't … I mean, it wasn't ... I was just…" He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain himself. And wondering why the hell he was trying to. She apparently wasn't as ready to let him off the hook.

"If you say so, dear." His mother really had mastered that particular tone of long-suffering sarcasm. "You dated her for how many months?"

"See: this is why I don't call." Harm groused.

His mother laughed, teasing him in that way only mothers could. "No it's not! Oh, alright." She continued indulgently, "Let's start over. Tell me all about this new woman in your life."

Harm's grin was back in place; he couldn't wait to share.

"Mac." He revealed. His pride was unmistakable.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, followed by a disbelieving and very happy squeal. "Mac! Really?! Oh, honey, this is wonderful news!"

Harm grinned, delighting in his mother's excitement. "That's right." He agreed arrogantly, possessively – he couldn't seem to help himself when it came to the woman tucked in his bed.

She laughed again, though her voice held a slight warning, no doubt because she recognized his tone. "Harmon Rabb Jr."

He grinned, "I know, mom. Don't worry."

He sobered suddenly. What the hell was he doing, calling his mom? Sharing all this with her brought down a cornucopia of complications and implications about his relationship with Mac. To his own ears, this sounded serious. But then, he was serious about Mac, wasn't he?

"Actually," He finally said, reminding himself that he was on the phone. "I'm terrified of screwing this up."

He had to pause, startled by the words that came out of his mouth.

"You won't, dear." She soothed, and then added, "You don't mess up when things really matter to you."

He scoffed. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." She chastised.

"It's not that. It's just that, well, Mac's really special, Mom. And I didn't, I mean … she's not just, you know, anyone …" He trailed off. Even as he was saying all this, he couldn't quite believe he was saying it to his mother. He'd been avoiding heart-to-hearts with her for years. She was far too perceptive, not to mention continually dropping hints about daughters-in-law and grandkids. He hadn't been ready to stomach it, not by far.

"After all this time," He found himself continuing his confession, though still not sure he wanted to. "Through it all, despite it all, she's the most important person in my life … It's ... It's terrifying." That was the exact word for it.

"Why terrifying?"

"You know, on her part, when we first met, it took her a while to trust me. For me though, she may have looked familiar, but the moment I shook her hand … it was different. I ... I'd never felt that kind of a connection with someone before, felt that way about a woman before. I mean, I've had my fair share of girlfriends, I've been attracted to them all from when I first met them." He shook his head at himself, wondering how he was so easily able to spill his guts on something so intimate to his mother. It had literally been years since they'd had such a deep conversation without him telling her to drop the subject. Ever since she'd married Frank, in fact.

But it felt surprisingly okay to talk to her. Hell, it felt good just to talk about this with someone. He hadn't realized how he needed to until he actually started.

"But it was different with her. I didn't even understand it, it was so … Meeting her was like…" He stuttered his way through – just because it felt good to talk, didn't mean it was easy to find the words. "I shook her hand and it was like … like seeing my first sunrise from the deck of a carrier …"

His mother's laughter was full of delight. "You're something else, darling!"

He rubbed his hand behind his neck, and grinned in embarrassment.

"I'd never met anyone like her, Mom. Other women, I've … well enjoyed … my, uh, time with them." He couldn't believe he was saying this. "But Mac … I … I treasure her, I guess is the closest word … From the beginning, I just … just wanted to see her happy. She's had such a hard life, you know. And she's only wanted the same for me. It's the kind of friendship—"

"It's called love, Harm." His mother cut him off gently.

He blinked at hearing that, surprised by how much sense it suddenly made. Love. The thought echoed in his mind. But that was so long ago, and so early on…

"Harm. It's not a bad thing, is it?" Her tone was cautious, and he knew she was trying to read him even though she couldn't see him. It was a familiar sensation around his mother, and one she'd often levelled at him during his teenage years of quiet rebellion.

He was at a loss. "No. I don't think so. It's just … so big."

"Harmon. You're always spoiling for a fight. Some things can be simple, you know. Break it down. What's so big about it?"

He turned thoughtful.

"Well, it's like a connection between us, you know? Like this invisible thread – sometimes, it's thick as a rope – that's always there. I'd be lost without it. If I'm … in her life…" He shook his head impatiently as he struggled to express himself. He started again. "You can never really stop being a part of someone's life, but you can stop being in their life … if they decide, or if you, if you … I can't lose her, Mom."

God, this was difficult to talk about. He felt so exposed, and instinctively he hated the feeling. He seriously reconsidered the merits of spilling his guts.

"I can't understand why you're so worried about this. Nothing has happened yet, has it?" His mother's voice focused his attention back on the conversation.

"You know that connection I talked about?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes."

"I always know where she is." He wondered if she'd think her son had lost his mind.

"What do you mean?" He could hear her confusion. "As in she tells you, you keep tabs?"

He shook his head, laughing at the mere thought. "No, nothing like that! She'd have my head on a chopping block if I got so possessive." He sobered as he tried to find a way to explain it to his mother. "It's uncanny: I just know. I mean, when she's near. Although I haven't tested how near."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, at first I'd just sort of look up whenever she entered a room, you know. Without planning on it or anything, and she'd be there. Then I found myself just walking to her."

"Walking to her." His mother's scepticism was tangible.

"Yeah. Like say we're at the office and I needed to ask her a question or something. I just knew where she'd be, be it her office or someone else's or the library or the conference room. I just ... find her. Even works on a carrier. I even found her one morning when we were jogging separately at that park near my place. It's weird."

"Are you serious?"

He nodded, grinning at his mother's incredulity. He quite enjoyed throwing her off her stride. "Uncanny, isn't it?"

"When did this start?"

"I don't even remember."

"You're not serious."

"I am."

"Where is she now?"

Harm laughed. "She's sleeping, mom. It's kind of late for her to be doing much of anything else right now."

She must have been very bewildered to let his needling her slide. He could tell she was still uncertain as to whether he was kidding around or not.

He shrugged. "You can test me later. Call me during the day."

"You can rest assured I will."

He laughed again, highly amused at his mother's reaction to this. Her next words, though, cut through his amusement.

"It's this connection you're afraid of losing?" She paused, and he swore he could hear the wheels turning in her head. "I think that she overwhelms you, Harm, and you're not used to being overwhelmed."

"Overwhelms me?" He dismissed it as crazy talk.

"What you feel for her. Wanting to be a part of her life like that."

He remained silent. All this talk of feelings. It was well enough to ask Mac what she was feeling when he knew she was bottling things up, but to hear his mother talk of feelings and more specifically of how he felt ... It seemed they only talked of feelings when they were discussing his dad, and this was the only association he could make. He tried to shake the unpleasant sensation this was all bringing up.

"Harm. Being in her life means what?" His mother broke the silence, probably mistaking it for hesitation on his part. "Getting married, coming home to each other, raising kids together. It means building a life with her."

"So many things could go wrong." Christ. Just thinking about the weight of what he felt for Mac, the heft of what he could have with her – hell, even the idea of what it all meant was enough to paralyze his heart into a confused inaction. He rubbed his hand over his chest, wondering at what the hell was wrong with him that just thinking about Mac and ... and everything reduced him to this.

"So many things can go right." His mother's voice pulled him out of the web he was spinning himself into.

He didn't say anything for a while, until he heard his mother's deep sigh.

"What?" He asked, suddenly worried by her reaction, the unpleasant sensation multiplying tenfold.

"You're not ready to commit, are you?"

"Well …" he sank deeper into the couch and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't know. I mean, she's ... this is all so new. I've never felt this way about a woman before. Sometimes, she's all I see in my life. But when I think about what that means …"

"You know, Harm, there comes a time when every boy has to grow up, accept his responsibilities as an adult. You can't just flit through life, from one diversion to the next. You need to settle down, build a family."

"I know." He felt like he was 15 again, and had just skipped school to go to the arcades.

"I don't think you do, Harm. I always wonder if I somehow let you down by marrying Frank when I did. Maybe if I'd waited before remarrying …" She trailed off, hesitant.

Harm frowned, and sat up straight. Where was this coming from.

"Mom—"

"No, hear me out." All traces of tentativeness left her voice, and her words were couched in certainty. "You never looked up to him as a father figure. Your dad went missing when you were just five. I thought that in time you would look up to Frank, go to him for advice; have those father-to-son talks. You never did. And I've always worried that because you never had that father figure you missed out on all the things that would have made you emotionally healthy, mature."

He had no idea she felt this way. He had no clue that she thought this of him, of his lack of a relationship with Frank. Truthfully, he hadn't given too much thought to his mother's relationship with Frank, beyond seeing it as a betrayal when he was younger, and as an indifferent fact when he was older.

"Mom." He felt the age-old need to defend her, if even to herself. He could feel her hurt through the line. "Don't blame yourself. I was too stubborn for my own good—"

"You were only a child, Harm. I was the adult."

"Mom." He refused to hear any more of this, and strengthened his defence of her. "It would've killed me to look back now and think that you'd put it all on hold for me. I mean, what would you have done after I'd gone to Annapolis, been deployed for months on end, moved to DC … you couldn't live your life for me. It wouldn't be fair."

"It's not fair for a son to grow up without his father." Her voice was suspiciously thick.

"Mom. Don't go all teary on me when I'm hundreds of miles away."

She gave a watery laugh. "Well, now. That just means you'll have to visit so I can go all teary right in front of you."

He smiled.

"Harm."

"Yeah."

"My little boy's growing up." She teased lightly. He knew she was trying to distract him from his worry, and was thankful for it.

"You do realize that your 'little boy' is almost forty." He figured it was time to lighten things up as well, before his mother got all emotional again.

"Harmon, what have I told you about exaggerating your age?" She scolded.

"It only makes you seem older."

"That's right. So don't do it."

"Yes, ma'am."

She laughed softly.

"When are you coming to visit? I think I've forgotten what you look like."

"Mom." He said, half-amused, half-exasperated.

"How about I come surprise you?" She suggested, her excitement making him laugh. "Maybe I'll drop by to find Mac in your apartment, dressed in only one of your shirts…"

"Mom!" He exclaimed, embarrassed.

"Oh, and I still have your father's engagement ring. The one he gave me..."

"Mom!" Good lord, his mother was insane.

"I'm just letting you know, darling. It's yours when you want it."

He desperately wanted to change the subject. "Mom..."

She laughed, sounding almost gleeful. "Come visit, honey, and bring Mac with you."

"I'll talk to her about it." He graciously submitted himself to her mothering. Frankly, though, he didn't think he was ready for such a huge step as taking Mac to meet his mother. Especially not with how his mother doted on Mac, even without ever having met her.

"Good. Have you spoken to your grandmother recently?"

"She's next on my list." He replied patiently.

"Good. And Harm when was the last time you went to see her? Time has never made anyone younger, you know."

"I know, Mom." He was again desperate to change the subject. He couldn't even put his grandmother and talk of ageing and ... and all that in the same thought without something terrible gripping his heart.

"Go visit your grandmother."

"I will. I promise."

"And take Mac with you." She continued.

"Mom!" He interrupted, taken off guard by the suggestion.

"Harmon Rabb Jr., it would make your grandmother so happy to meet the one person who was with you when you found your father."

Any argument he may have had abandoned him when faced with the blunt truth of that statement.

"Geez. Talk about emotional blackmail." He tried to joke his way out of the corner his mother had backed him into.

"Raising you, darling, I've perfected it to an art form."

"I'll say."

"Listen to your mother, Harm. For once."

"I always listen to you!" He protested.

"You stopped listening to me the day you learned to walk." The teasing note in her voice was evident, so Harm let himself relax a bit.

He laughed. "Fine. I'll call Grams and tell her Mac and I will be coming down to visit."

The words slipped without his really meaning for them to. He'd planned on deflecting this suggestion just as he had the earlier one of him taking Mac to meet his mother.

"Don't worry, Gram will love Mac."

Harm sighed heavily. That, he thought, was hardly what he was worried about. His mother must have sensed his hesitation.

"Harm, what is it?"

"This is a big step." He said slowly, hoping she wouldn't get upset and give him a long lecture about grandkids and time ageing people right to their graves.

"That worries you?" She surprised him with the genuine concern in her voice. It caught him off guard to the point where he couldn't dedicate himself to coming up with an appropriate answer.

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know." He fumbled.

"Do what you feel is right." She finally said. Harm had always hated hearing that from his mother, or grandmother for that matter.

A long silence slipped by as he debated on what to do with himself.

"I'll call Gram and let her know we're coming." He finally relented, still not entirely convinced of the merits of this course of action. Maybe he just wouldn't follow through. He hadn't promised, after all.

"And we'll make plans for you two to come down here. Maybe you could take some time off during the summer." She suggested.

"I'll talk to Mac about it." He told his mother what she wanted to hear.

"Great." He could hear her giddy happiness through the handset. "Goodbye, dear."

"Bye, Mom. Say hi to Frank for me."

"Will do. Love you, darling. And give my love to Mac."

Harm hung up the phone.

And then he just stared at it.

What the hell just happened? What did he just get himself into?

He didn't think he'd had ever had such a long phone call with his mom. What on earth had possessed him to call his mother? This had to do with that impetuous streak in him Mac went on and on about. He couldn't decide if he regretted having made the call or not. One thing was sure: he'd said a whole lot more than he'd ever intended to. Hell, he'd said more than he even thought he had to say.

Harm took a deep breath and glanced towards his bedroom. Now to ask Mac.

He was nervous. He'd never taken a girl home before, not specifically to meet his mother and he'd never even thought to take a girl to his grandmother's.

Maybe he just wouldn't ask her. Not yet.

But why should he feel nervous? He loved Mac. That's all there was to it.

He walked to bedroom, and watched her sleep. He smiled. He slipped between the sheets, and trailed his fingers through her hair. He loved her. She was his sunrise.

--

His very, very sleepy sunrise, he mused after long minutes of trying to figure out how he'd ask Mac to come with him to his grandmother's without making it sound like a big deal. He couldn't say it was because of his father; that would just come across as strange after all this time. And he couldn't say it was because they were dating; that would imply more than he was ready for.

She shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. She did look exhausted, he noted. And she must've been really tired to fade out like she did. Maybe that would be a sufficient in: she was tired and she needed a break and he was due to visit his grandmother and they'd been separated for a week due to stupid Brumby. There.

"Hey."

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he realized she was awake, and addressing him. His smile was automatic at seeing her dark brown eyes watching him with such a tingling familiarity.

"Good morning," He whispered, and kissed her.

"Hmm," Was her contented reply. "Good morning to you." She trailed her fingers over his face, her caresses not quite chasing away his worry over what he was about to ask her.

"You were out like a light." He commented, trying to jump start his master plan

She nodded with a slight shrug. "Tough week. Stupid cold only went away Friday, had weekend duty, and with the admiral gone I was in charge. Plus I had all that catch up to do after my return from Germany."

"You need to a break," he suggested.

"Tell me about it." She yawned, and slid closer to him, her fingers light and soft on his hip.

"How about we go away this weekend?" He held his breath.

"You don't have to do that," She grinned up at him, a sly little grin that he told himself not to get distracted by. She nudged in even closer to him. "I can catch up on my sleep in my bed." She nipped playfully at his ear. "Or yours."

"No, I mean it." He insisted, admiring his own willpower in the face of her advances. "I was talking to my mom, and she was saying that my grandmother is feeling a bit down these days." He told himself he hadn't really meant the invitation to come out in the form of a white lie.

She was fully awake now, listening to him.

He faltered at the attention she was directing towards him and his words.

"She asked me to go visit Gram," He cleared his throat. "It always lifts her spirits to have guests over."

"Especially her favourite grandson." Mac offered, with a warm, crooked grin.

He smiled, and didn't give himself pause to think. "Exactly my mom's words. Come with me."

"What?" She was startled.

"Come with me to visit my grandmother." He repeated, swallowing his nerves. "Having two people in the house will make her really happy. And she'd love to meet you. And the farm is such a calm, peaceful place. Gram's Shepherd's pie, fresh country air ... it's just what you need." He ended, rather lamely he thought.

"Harm," She began slowly. "I don't want to impose."

"Mac, you wouldn't be."

She was hesitating, he knew. He hoped it wasn't in reaction to the way he was asking.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He was firm.

"You seem..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"Are you sure? You can go on your own, Harm, I really don't mind. I think you should go."

"Mac. I'd like you to meet my grandmother. I'd like for her to meet you."

This was getting awkward. He hoped she wouldn't make him ask again.

"Okay," She said self-consciously.

"What is it?" He prodded, not entirely satisfied with the way this was proceeding. Maybe he shouldn't have asked. It never occurred to him that she wouldn't be ready.

She shook her head and smiled. "I'd love to, Harm. Thank you."

"Come on, Mac. Talk to me. What's bothering you?"

"I guess I'm a bit overwhelmed. I know how important your grandmother is to you."

That, he had an answer to.

"Do you know how important you are to me?"

Her smile turned genuine, lighting up every dark corner of his bedroom. "I'm starting to get an idea."

He kissed her, relieved that was out of the way. "Good."

Actually, he realized with a pleasant jolt, he was looking forward to the trip now that he'd asked and she'd agreed. Go figure.

"Come on." He sat up, grinning. His excitement needed movement to vent. His grandmother was going to be over the moon when she found out they were coming to visit! "Let's go out for some breakfast. Any requests?"

"Harm, it's just past three in the morning." She was nestling back into her pillow, her eyes already closed.

He pulled the covers off of her in one swift motion, and gave her a quick pat on her six.

"Harm!" Her arm reached out, she grabbed the sheet and hastened to cover her naked body. "It's cold!"

He sat still for a moment, the glimpse of a very naked Sarah MacKenzie had him severely debating the merits of leaving. But she was already half asleep and, as he'd pointed out, very tired. He wrenched himself away from her, and dug some clothes out of his closet.

"Alright. You sleep. I'm still on Sydney time. I'll bring take-out from that diner down the street." He slipped into his jeans and a sweatshirt before sitting back down on the bed to pull on his socks.

"Stuffed French toast, please," She mumbled, all drowsy and inviting, settled deep in his sheets like that.

She wasn't making this easy.

"Done. Oh, and before I forget. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Friday night?" One eye popped open to watch him.

He nodded.

"No, don't think so." She frowned, propping herself up on her elbows as she gave it some thought. She shook her head. "Why?"

"I was thinking we could go out for dinner."

"Like a date?" Her tone was teasing. She sat up, and stretched.

He gave a casual shrug, and tried not to look as eager as he felt. "If you want to call it that."

She pushed him lightly on the shoulder, seeing through his act of nonchalance. He laughed in response.

"Our first date." He replied, his smile mirroring hers. Sarah MacKenzie was flirting with him, sitting naked in his bed. He ran a hand down her side. To hell with breakfast; he was staying right here.

"I can't wait until tonight!" She caught his lips in a slow, thorough kiss.

She pulled away, and rested her chin on his shoulder. The sheets slipped away from her upper body. "So. Where're you taking me for our first date, sailor?"

He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. And her nakedness was proving to be a distraction to coherent brain function.

"It's a surprise." He covered.

She laughed. "You have no idea, do you?"

He joined in her laughter, his hands lightly tickling her sides. "Are you going to kill all the romance, French fry?"

She smiled sweetly. With an expression of exaggerated innocence she brought her fingers to her lips, and feigned zipping her mouth shut.

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, his laughter renewed, and spun around so that she was lying underneath him.

"I just caught myself a Marine."

"A Marine never gets caught."

His eyebrow inched higher. "And what, pray tell, is this?" He indicated her hands, which he now had pinned above her head.

"Strategy." She countered smugly.

"Really?"

"Hmm." She hooked her ankle over his knee, and pulled him closer to her. She shifted her hips lightly, and they looked each other in the eye, silently communicating how good this felt. "Don't you think?"

He nodded, and leaned down for a kiss, his hands leaving hers to move down her body.

"At this rate, we'll never get to the French toast," She mumbled as his lips explored her skin, her fingers slipping through his hair.

"Later," He replied absently, intent on more pressing tasks.

"Much later," She sighed, her fingers slowly unzipping the fly of his jeans.

He smiled against the soft skin of her neck, taking a moment to enjoy his sudden surge of unadulterated pride in how her body reacted to his touch. He loved making her forget about food.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Part 7**

Somewhere in Pennsylvania  
Harm's SUV  
Saturday  
1143 Local

Mac admired the country scenery as Harm drove them to his grandmother's, listening to his tour guide commentary with half an ear. She couldn't stop ... well, thinking. She couldn't stop thinking. About the punches Harm and Mic had exchanged in Australia, for example. She couldn't stop wondering whether Harm really punched Mic because of her, and how terrible the thought made her feel. Not to mention upset. Harm had a tendency to be impulsive, but if he was being so damn reckless so soon into this relationship – or whatever they wanted to call it – of theirs, then she definitely was his greatest risk. And what about inviting her to his grandmother's? He'd looked so nervous when he'd asked her. Did he know what he was doing? Did she? She almost said no to this trip; should she have? She hazarded a glance in his direction.

He was talking about the importance of paved roads to agricultural development, and throwing her occasional smiles full of a barely suppressed excitement.

She could only return his smile with a genuine one of her own . He looked so ... uncomplicatedly happy.

No, she decided. He did not punch Mic because of her. She had noticed – as had everyone else in the office – that Mic and Harm just didn't get along. She'd heard Bud and Harriet discussing it once, and had struggled to contain her laughter at their analysis of two alpha males trying to mark the same territory; namely, the spot of top dog at JAG.

Besides, she hadn't detected anything untoward in the admiral's mood on Friday. That was a good sign. Maybe Harm had a point.

And what of Mic? She had put him in his place in an admittedly irate email not long after Harm had left for Australia, and told him that his ploy wouldn't work on her. If he couldn't be a friend without wanting something more, he was wasting both their time. She'd been a bit a overly zealous with her ire, mostly because she'd written this email right after coming home, soaked and frozen to the bone because of the blizzard raging outside, which had of course exacerbated her cold. To make matters worse, she'd been unable to find her scarf that morning – as it turned out, she'd left it at Harm's place. She really, really hoped her email to Mic didn't have anything to do with him taking a swing at Harm. But she hadn't even mentioned Harm in that email.

She thought better of Mic, or at least she had thought better of him. Now she wasn't so sure. He'd remained silent after that last email, when he usually responded immediately. It was just as well.

This was all so worrying. She couldn't stop worrying. But she was determined not to worry. Harm wasn't worried. They'd figure it all out. Somehow. God, she hoped they did.

"Harm?" She interrupted his monologue on farming statistics with the sudden urge to put her mind at ease on at least one point of tension.

"Yeah?" He gave her a quick glance and a grin. "What's up?"

"While you were gone, before you and Mic took swings at each other, I wrote him."

"You did." His tone was admirably level, though his grip tightened on the steering wheel. Mac had to smile at his restraint, even through her trepidation.

"I did." She confirmed. "To tell him off for his underhanded ploy."

He broke into a full out grin. "You did," Now his tone was much more arrogant.

She shook her head, amused by his sudden about-turn. "Yes, I did. Told him he was wasting both our time."

"And?"

"He hasn't written back."

Harm glanced at her, eyebrow raised. She could tell that he was trying hard not to say 'I told you so'.

She sighed, and fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. "Which just makes me feel worse; I really did see him as a friend."

She looked at him in time to catch his scowl, and wondered why her being friends with Mic was such an odious thought to him. She remembered what Mic had said about her being a special lady. She'd sort of believed him. But now...

"I'd deck him again if I had the chance," Harm threatened darkly. He must've caught her look of surprise, because he was quick to defend his intent. "He doesn't respect you, Mac, in the way you deserve. It's not right."

She was admittedly startled, and didn't know how to react to that statement. She decided to take his comment at face value. Maybe it was just a guy thing, throwing punches. Or a Navy thing, she remembered how the admiral had broken Webb's nose. She'd been making too much out of it all.

"Thank you." She settled for saying. She'd never had such honourable, if violent, intent directed at her before; it was as flattering as it was unsettling.

He looked at her, and it was his turn to be startled before he broke into a full-blown grin. He gave her an affectionate wink, taking her hand in his.

He held her hand until they pulled into the driveway of a sprawling farm, where a woman – Harm's grandmother, Mac assumed – was patiently waiting by the front porch.

As soon as he'd parked, Harm was out of the SUV like a light, and embracing his grandmother in a bear hug before Mac even had a chance to unlock her door. She laughed at Harm's exuberance, endeared by how eagerly unaffected his actions were.

She approached the couple, an unfamiliar warmth coating her heart at witnessing their affectionate reunion. Harm caught her eye just as his grandmother pinched his waist, and said something about him being far too skinny for such a big boy. He winked at Mac, his smile wide as he let his grandmother pat his stomach with a teasing disapproval.

Mac laughed at the sight, and his grandmother's attention immediately turned to her. It was the first proper look Mac got of the eponym for Harm's Stearman.

She was a tall woman, and graceful in a willowy sort of way, something about the curve of her wrist and the slope of her neck. But by the way she carried herself, Mac had no doubt Harm's grandmother was strong as an oak. What struck Mac the most though, was the woman's beauty. It was in her eyes, Mac decided. Light blue, holding a spark of mischief, and the pull of something deep and wise that Mac immediately found compelling. Just looking into those eyes made her want to smile. She realized she could easily fall in love with this woman, and be as smitten as Harm obviously was.

"Gram," Harm said, his note of pride unmistakable. He was taking genuine pleasure in making this introduction, Mac realized, and that made the concerns she'd entertained in the car fade to the background. "This is Sarah MacKenzie."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ma'am." Mac, suddenly unsure, put her hand out in greeting.

Harm's grandmother took a step towards Mac and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. Mac's arms hung akimbo for a moment, as she tried to process this turn. It was Harm's maniacally wide, happy grin that jolted her to action, and she returned the hug as best she could given that Mac was not accustomed to being hugged so warmly by someone she'd never met before.

"Sarah," There was a note of gratitude in her voice that Mac couldn't begin to explain. The older woman pulled back, firmly grasping Mac by her shoulders. Not knowing what to do with her hands, Mac let her arms hang by her side.

"You must call me Gram. You've been family ever since you helped Harm find my son." There were tears in her eyes as she gave Harm a long glance, and Mac understood the reason behind the gratitude she'd been so readily offered.

She looked over Gram's shoulder at Harm, and she could see his grief as he shared in the heavy moment with his grandmother. It took her right back to that trip to Russia, to that moment when she was standing next to him as he cried over his father's final resting place. Mac fought her own sadness at remembering that trip, at the hurt she could do nothing to alleviate for him.

"It was my honour, M-" She caught herself, and amended, "Gram."

Gram broke into a full smile, and the sudden sombre cloud that hung over them dispelled as quickly as it had come. Gram's eyes roamed Mac's face, seeming to take her in.

"You, my dear, are simply beautiful." She turned again to Harm, her hands sliding from Mac's shoulders to her wrists. "You did not do her justice." She informed him.

Mac had no idea what to say to that.

"Come, let's get you two inside." She threaded her arm through Mac's, and led her towards the house.

--

Harm watched as his grandmother led Mac into the house, his smile uncontrollable. He could tell Mac was overwhelmed, but also very much taken by his grandmother. That woman had to be among the most compelling he'd ever known. He'd always thought she could charm Narcissus away from his own reflection.

He followed them into the house, toting their bags along, as Gram directed Mac towards their room on the second floor. He chuckled when the third stair creaked as soon as Mac stepped on it.

"Ha," Harm said, suddenly steeped in years of fond memories. "That's the telltale third stair. It's creaked like that for as long as I can remember. I used to jump over the step when I was trying to sneak in or out without waking Gram."

"Usually in, dear." Gram gave Mac a knowing look. "After late nights chasing the poor girls who lived on neighbouring farms."

Mac laughed, eying Harm with undisguised delight.

His grandmother was going to be his ruin, Harm decided.

"Gram! That was just one summer! And it was just Emma Jenkins who was visiting her uncle."

Mac laughed even harder at the clarification – which had not been Harm's intent – and Gram joined in.

"I liked going out to look at the stars," He tried again to defend his younger self. "It's so clear out here."

Mac gave him an indulgent grin. "I believe you."

He rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "For that, you can carry your own bag up."

He dropped her bag to the floor, took three steps up the stairs, and passed Mac before Gram's stern voice stopped him with unmistakable censure.

"Harmon Rabb Jr."

Harm came to a quick halt, silently did an about-turn, returned to the landing, picked up Mac's bag and then headed back up the stairs, all without looking at either Mac or Gram.

Mac of course, had to get in the last word.

"You'll have to teach me how you do that," She leaned in to tell Gram.

"I heard that," Harm muttered as he made his way up the stairs. Mac and Gram's joint laughter followed him to his old bedroom, putting a smile on his face. Not that either of them needed to know about that.

--

Rabb Farm  
Saturday  
1800 Local

"Here you are, Shepherd's Pie." Gram presented the pie with a flourish and freshly baked bread. "I actually made it with Chili, rather than plain old ground beef."

"Wow, Gram, this looks amazing." Harm grinned at his grandmother, and looked to Mac's reaction.

She was just staring at the dish looking, of all things, stunned.

"Mac?"

"Huh?" She looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry. It's just," She looked to Gram. "This is Chili pie? It looks and smells just like, I mean, when I first smelled ... I'm sorry." She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, and tried to smile.

"It's just, my mom used to make this." She said finally. Her expression turned distant as she stared at the dish. "On Sundays..." She said softly and then trailed off, seeming to realize she wasn't alone. Once again, she shook her head briskly, and forced a smile. "I haven't had this in ages."

Gram looked at Harm, confused; while he looked at Mac, unsure of her reaction.

"Mac..." He started, but didn't know how to continue.

"Thank you, Gram." Mac said with genuine warmth, and Harm breathed a bit easier.

"You're quite welcome dear. I didn't know this dish was so familiar to you." She took a seat, and continued in a conversational tone. "What happened? You said your mother used to make this for you?"

"Gram," Harm interrupted, "I don't think ... I mean..."

He squirmed until Mac kindly took pity on him.

"It's alright, Harm." She looked hesitantly at Gram, her self-conscious anxiety evident.

"Well, I haven't seen my mom in a while." Mac cleared her throat. "She left me and my dad. My dad, he was an alcoholic, I guess she'd had enough." She shrugged, as though it no longer meant much of anything to her.

"Oh, dear, I had no idea." Gram gave Harm a sharp glance, telling him off with just a look. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

"You haven't. It was a long time ago. This is the first time I've seen this dish, though, since then. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it." Mac smiled at that, and the room lit up. Any lingering tension now only a memory.

"Well, then." Gram said brightly, "Let's eat."

"Gram, this tastes better than any version I've ever had." Mac commented after a few bites.

"Oh, dear! I doubt that" Gram exclaimed. Harm could see that she was flattered even though she was protesting the praise.

"It's the truth." She smiled at Gram. It was a smile that was faintly insecure yet brimming with such honest pleasure that Harm felt a new, wonderfully unknown rhythm beat in his chest. "You cook with your heart."

He could hear the discomfort layered thinly under her sincerity.

"Your mother loved you, Sarah dear, whatever may have happened." As she spoke, she looked Mac in the eye in a way that made Harm think both women had forgotten he was even in the room. "It's the way mothers are made."

Mac shrugged. From the way she was returning Gram's gaze, Harm knew she didn't believe a word of what his grandmother was saying. "For a while, I wished she loved me because she genuinely did, not because she was wired to."

Harm took her hand in his, feeling helpless, hating to see Mac look so damn sad. She started at his touch, and seemed to suddenly remember herself. Her eyes darted away from his grandmother's gripping focus.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so..." She pulled her hand from under his, and waved it in front of her dismissively. Harm chuckled softly at Mac's discomfiture as she realized the extent of what she'd revealed without intending to. Gram had a way of getting even the most mule-headed, obstinate clams to open up. He could bear witness to that.

"Don't you worry about that." Gram pointed a stern finger at Mac. "And any time you want some of this pie – Sunday or not – it's only a drive away."

--

Later that evening, Harm sat with his grandmother on the living room sofa. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows over the room.

He couldn't get his mind off what happened over dinner. He and Mac had insisted they'd clean up after dinner, since Gram had done all the cooking. But once they'd finished putting the leftovers away and clearing the dishes, Mac had excused herself and gone up to their room. She'd been up there for the past 15 minutes, and Harm couldn't decide whether to go up and check on her, or leave her alone for awhile.

His grandmother patted his knee, effectively calling his attention to her.

"There's something about her, Harmon." Gram caught his eye. "One can't help but be drawn to her. She's a special one. You hurt that girl and I'll come after you with my rolling pin."

Harm grinned at the colourful image that brought to mind.

"Yes, ma'am."

Gram' teasing expression turned serious. Harm recognized that turn: he was in for a lecture. Or a lesson, as Gram liked to call them.

"I can't pretend to understand what her mother was thinking, but that kind of hurt doesn't go away without a lot of love." His grandmother paused to study him closely. "You can't tread lightly on her heart."

"I know, Gram."

She looked at him for one long moment, making Harm squirm.

"I hope you do, son."

"Gram," He defended. "Don't underestimate her: Mac's tough."

"Because she's had to be."

Before Harm could respond, the telltale third stair creaked loudly, heralding Mac's arrival and ending their conversation.

Gram' words, however, struck a chord.

He thought of their conversation on the drive over, about Brumby not respecting her as she deserved. He could tell she hadn't been convinced by what he'd said. How her estimation of herself could be so low continually surprised him. He'd known on some level that her self-image was a precarious thing, but he hadn't realized the extent of her insecurities. He'd guessed that it came from her childhood neglect and abandonment, but hearing Gram phrase it like that ... _doesn't go away without a lot of love_...

He wondered if Bud's eagerness to please stemmed from the same source, although he was seeing Bud slowly but surely blossom under both Harriet's love and his and Mac's tutelage. Harm wasn't the kind of person who needed other people's approval to feel validated, but he sensed that finding self-satisfaction was more of a struggle for Mac.

And he knew that Mac rarely let anyone see weakness in her, and hated showing it. Except with him. Admittedly, it was hard for her and sometimes he pushed and cornered her, but he thought he'd been granted a level of intimacy and access, for lack of a better word, that even Mac was unaccustomed to giving.

He felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, more acute than any he'd felt before when his thoughts centered on her. He vowed that he wouldn't let her down, that he'd give her reason to trust him fully. God, he hoped he didn't screw this up. What if he just didn't know how to give her what she deserved, needed? There were so many ways this could go wrong.

"Well, dears, I'm going to head off to bed." Gram gentle voice cut through his decidedly worrying thoughts. She stood up from her seat next to Harm, placed a kiss on the top of his head, and crossed the living room, just as Mac made her way towards the couch Harm was seated on.

"Goodnight, Gram," Mac gave their hostess a bright smile as their paths crossed.

"Goodnight, Sarah dear," Gram came to a stop, and pulled Mac into a hug. She released a flustered Mac and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep tight."

"Uh, thanks, Gram." Mac's cheeks took an endearing pink tinge, and Harm had to smile at how Gram's small gesture of affection had his squared-away marine so out of sorts.

"Night, Gram." Harm called after his grandmother. He watched as Mac slowly made her way to the couch, still blushing. He grabbed her hand as soon as she was within his reach, and pulled her down to sit next to him.

They exchanged a warm smile, and Harm was about to ask her what she thought of the Rabb family farm and, more importantly, his grandmother, when Mac's expression turned from one of self-conscious pleasure, to slight embarrassment.

"I should apologize." She looked suddenly uncomfortable.

"For what?" He frowned, genuinely perplexed.

"Over dinner, laying it all out like that for your grandmother, I didn't—"

"Mac!" He cut her off before she could go any further in this preposterous vein. "You don't need to ever apologize for that, ever."

Mac gave a quick, uneasy laugh. "She has a way about her. Or maybe it's the country air." She continued trying to justify herself.

"Sarah MacKenzie." He warned.

"Harmon Rabb," She teased in rejoinder, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

He grinned. "I'll admit she has a way about her – just invites confidence and confessions. It's why I came here after my ramp strike."

He waited a moment, before deciding to broach what had been tugging at his mind since dinner.

"Mac, about your mom..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Would it be okay if I said I didn't want to talk about it?" She asked tentatively. "Consider dinner an ... anomaly. I was just caught off guard."

He nodded, and tried to look like it was okay. Really, though, he wished she'd open up more to him.

She rested her head against his shoulder, and tucked herself into his side. "Thank you. For understanding."

He only nodded again. With time, he thought, maybe he'd gain her trust. Not her trust in him, which he already knew she held without question, but trust in herself to let go completely with him.

"Anything for you, Mac." He whispered into her hair.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights - Part 8**

JAG HQ  
Tuesday  
1008 Local

Mac looked up at hearing a knock on her door, and was greeted with the pleasant sight of Harm entering her office.

"Hi," She leaned back in her chair and smiled up at him.

"Hey, Mac." He looked regretful, and Mac's smile faded.

"What's up?"

"I've got to go to Iceland. Military air space rules..." He trailed off half-heartedly, which surprised her. He usually enjoyed that kind of assignment. "Can you take over some of my cases? I'll give you first pick."

"No problem." She replied without hesitating, and then smiled a bit sadly at his lack of excitement on the prospect of leaving. "Eventually, I'm sure, we'll spend at least one week on the same continent." She offered.

He laughed. "I guess your prediction for the new year was spot on."

"When am I ever wrong, Harm?" She waved her pen in front of her with a practised hand. "It's a gift and a curse."

"Alright, smart alec, enough of that." He pointed his finger at her in warning.

They shared an affectionate smile

"I'll miss you." He said softly.

"Did I thank you for this weekend?" She changed the subject.

His smile widened; they both knew how she hated goodbyes.

"You did. And you can stop doing it. Gram officially considers you part of the family now. There are no thank you's between family."

"You won't be gone long?"

He shook his head. "I won't be gone long. I'll be back before the weekend."

"Okay." She nodded.

"At least I know you'll be fine for food," He teased. "Gram went a bit overboard. We barely had room for our bags."

Mac broke into a bright smile. "She's amazing. And what a cook." She gave Harm a look of sheer giddiness. "You know, I found two pies in there – one apple and one raspberry, and enough cookies to swim in!"

Harm grinned at her, but Mac couldn't stop her praise. The stuff she'd found in that trove Gram had made Harm load into his car...

"Don't even get me started on those jams. Or the meat pies!"

He laughed, "All that food mean you won't miss me?"

She gave a look that told him he ought to know better.

"I'll miss you, Harm."

They shared a look full of longing, anticipating the next few days.

"So ... I'll see you in a few days." He finally said.

"A few days." She replied.

He didn't move, and she laughed. "Go on, Harm. You have a plane to catch."

"What?" He looked at her, startled. "No hug?"

"We're on our best behaviour remember?" She said seriously, her eyes darting behind Harm to the bullpen.

He turned his head to follow her gaze. He sighed. "I suppose we are."

He turned back and was surprised to find her standing right next to him. He grinned, eyebrow raised in anticipation.

"I have to drop these off at Tiner's desk," Mac defended, indicating the folders in her hand. With a quick glance to the bullpen, she tugged on his cuff sleeve.

"I really will miss you, Harm."

His smile softened back into affection as he let his eyes roam over her face. He reached up a hand to tug on the lapel of her uniform jacket before clasping his hands behind his back.

"Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." He said lightly, his words a poor substitute for his touch.

"Don't deck anyone while you're gone," She gave him an impish grin. She lowered her voice to a quiet whisper. "Even if you do look sexy all banged up."

"Really, Marine..." He flirted, leaning towards her. His gaze flitted to her lips.

Her eyes immediately widened, and he stopped himself, realizing what he was about to do. He had the grace to look sheepish.

"Best behaviour," He stated clearing his throat.

She laughed, and smacked his arm with the folders she was holding. "Go, before you compromise both our careers."

"Yes, Ma'am." And with that, he made his way to her office door. He stopped abruptly when he had one foot out the door, and did a quick about turn.

"I almost forgot." He directed a warm smile alight with mischief at her.

"What?" She asked, slightly ambivalent about what he had up his sleeve.

"I have something for you." He raised an eyebrow.

Mac broke into a wide grin.

"You do?" It took all her restraint not to run a finger down his chest and flirt shamelessly.

He dug into his pocket.

"Here." He handed her a Snickers bar. "I got it from the vending machine..."

She laughed in delight, taking the bar from him. "My favourite."

He grinned. "I know."

He tugged on her jacket lapel once again, and he was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Insights - Part 9**

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: This bit deals with the episode 'The Bridge at Kang So Ri'. All you need to know is that Mac and Harm are sent to investigate some happening in Korea. Renée shows up at the airport with her gear, since she's going to be covering said happening. The 747 they're travelling in gets hijacked. Harm and Mac do their thing, overpower the hijackers, and Harm lands the plane while Mac sits in the co-pilot seat. Once landed, Mac says she thinks she'll take the boat next time.

We join them after they return to DC, following the investigation.

--

Harm's SUV  
Tuesday  
2008 Local

Mac rested back against the passenger seat of Harm's SUV. What an incredibly ... interesting trip. It wasn't enough that the 747 they'd been travelling on to Korea had been hijacked, but Renée of all people had been on the flight. Mac shook her head in disbelief. What were the odds? That woman seemed to be everywhere.

As it was, the reception for the recruitment commercial was under a month away, so Renée had of course had no qualms about flirting with Harm over his expected attendance. It hadn't bothered Mac, not really, but Harm could've been a little less ... receptive. Or at least a little more distant. Instead he'd thought it all very amusing – she'd been able to tell by that ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, and the way he'd stood a little taller.

Until he'd realized she was watching him and his behaviour with undisguised fascination. Men. Mac scoffed. Well, _one_ man in particular and his ego.

She didn't know how to say all that out loud to him without sounding either slightly irrational, which she wasn't, or like she didn't know that Harm was just being Harm, which she did. And it wasn't that she was bothered by women flirting with him, she repeated to herself. So she settled with saying something else altogether.

"How is it that Renée keeps turning up everywhere you are these days?"

She caught his sidelong glance and devilish grin.

"Jealous, Colonel?" He was enjoying this.

Insensitive moron. She'd show him.

All trace of curious speculation disappeared from Mac's face as she turned to look at him, instead replaced by a piercing and uncomfortably serious frown.

"Do I have reason to be?" She asked with the full weight of solemnity.

He choked on his grin, visibly alarmed by her reaction. "What? No! Of course not, Mac! I—"

He stopped his fumbling attempts at coherence when he saw the sly grin spread on Mac's face.

"Then why would I be, Commander?" She felt very smug indeed.

Harm gave her a wry half-smile. He shook his head, finger pointed at her in warning. "That one's going to cost you."

"Can't wait." She bantered back.

He laughed, and she enjoyed the sound of it. Especially after the day's stresses. He reached over to take her hand in his.

"You did good work," She said to him, realizing that she hadn't had a chance to say anything before because they'd been so involved in their investigation. "Landing the plane. You saved a lot of people."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, giving her a quick glance.

"Really? So you won't take a boat next time." He apparently hadn't forgotten the first words she'd said after he'd landed the plane.

"Oh, I definitely will, if I can help it. I thought I was safe with you on 747s, but now that's off the list too." She wasn't sure if she was teasing. It was slightly silly, though, wasn't it? They'd flown together on planes countless times. Things had gone wrong only a tiny fraction of those times. Heck, the return trip from Korea had gone by very smoothly. Not that she'd been worried.

"You are joking, right?"

She didn't say anything.

"Mac." He sounded genuinely troubled, and Mac realized he was actually concerned.

"Alright, alright." She relented, for his sake. "I am kidding."

"So you'll come with me to fly Sarah once the weather warms up?"

"Um," She cleared her throat. She hadn't gone back up with him since that first time. She'd have to mentally psych herself up to get on that plane again, though she didn't blame him for anything. It wasn't the messed up fuel line and emergency landing that bothered her, nor was it even being shot that was the issue. But having to kill a man who was trying to rape her ... she preferred not to think about it. "Sure."

"Mac." He repeated, unconvinced.

She had to smile at his tone. The way he was sounding, she was pretty sure nothing like that would happen again: he'd refuse to allow it through sheer force of will. It occurred to her that maybe he was still uneasy over what had happened that day. It could actually be good for them to go flying in Sarah.

"Seriously, Harm." She said. "Of course I'll come with you."

He looked at her carefully, gauging her sincerity.

She tugged lightly on his hand. "I promise. Tell you what: we can spend the night in the mountains again. I'll even let you share my sleeping bag."

"I hope it gets warm real soon." He chuckled, light with relief, before turning his attention back to the road.

She smiled, still holding his hand, content with watching him as he drove. He was lost in some thought, his eyes fixed on the road, the intermittent light from streetlamps playing over his features. At times like this, when they were simply sitting together in a shared silence, she felt a kind of strength that was unfamiliar; a right to lay a claim to belonging somewhere, with someone. It was a comfort, after having spent so long trying to find her way alone. Yet the feeling unsettled her; she was stepping into foreign territory and she didn't know the rules of engagement.

"Are you up for dinner tonight?" She said suddenly, needing to distract herself from her thoughts.

"With you?" He gave her his patented grin. "Always."

"I'm honoured." She teased, feigning modesty. She traced the veins on his hands with her fingers. It felt so good to touch him, to connect in this way. He'd ended up staying in Iceland much longer than planned, grounded due to an unexpected snowstorm. He'd only come back Sunday night. It had made for a very long weekend, the nights mostly. She'd spent all of Saturday with little AJ, which almost made up for Harm's absence. It would've been a lot better if he'd been there as well, but she supposed that they both knew what they're jobs entailed.

"We haven't had much time to ourselves since I came back." She said, glancing his way.

"Not nearly enough," He agreed, looking at her in that way she knew would spoil her for life, if she let it.

"After today, I think we could both stand to de-stress." She added, her fingers sliding under the cuff of his jacket to rub the skin over his wrists. She could've sworn she could see his ears actually perk up.

"Why, Colonel, are you propositioning me?" He was all cockiness.

"If you're asking, then I mustn't be doing it right," She countered, letting go of his hand.

He laughed, catching her hand immediately. "Your place or mine?"

"I have to pick up Jingo from Louise, wherever we end up going." She leaned back against the seat, suddenly tired. Adrenaline must be wearing off - she'd been running on it for far too long. She glanced at Harm, to see how he was faring. Better. She guessed pilot training had something to do with it.

"Tired?" He asked sympathetically.

"I think the trip's finally hitting me."

"Let's go to your place, then. We can light a fire and relax. We'll pick up your mutt on our way."

"Thanks," She smiled and rested their clasped hands onto her lap, threading her fingers through his. "But I'm not too tired to ... de-stress."

"Whatever the lady wants," Harm replied gallantly, his grin widening.

"Yeah? Then how about the Beltway Burger drive-through?"

Harm groaned. "Really?"

"You don't have to eat from there. We can order in for you, or get take-out from somewhere else..." She trailed off, as she noticed the stress lines around his eyes. He was tired, she realized, but was just better at hiding it.

"Listen, let's just go straight home and order in." She offered, feeling bad for asking him to drive around the city after the day they'd had.

"What about Jingo?" He glanced at her. "And your artery-clogging food?"

"Louise won't mind keeping him for another night. And I can have Beltway another day."

"I don't mind, Mac."

"We can do that compromising thing, Harm. Remember?"

"Alright." He laughed quietly, his eyes catching hers before returning to the road. "Well, your suggestion is hardly a compromise." He paused, and seemed to give the situation some thought.

"Let's see. We swing by to pick up Jingo now – I'm sure the mutt would love to see you tonight. We can also pick up one heart attack in a bun for you, since Beltway Burger is on the way home. In exchange," He threw her a sidelong grin, "You take me to Ho's Noodle House for lunch tomorrow, and I get a dozen of the sugar cookies – and they have to be the ones shaped like planes – from the package Gram gave you." He seemed inordinately satisfied with his solution.

She stared at him askance. Ho's Noodle House was one thing: she'd just have to make sure to eat a big breakfast tomorrow morning, and maybe sneak in that Snickers bar she still had in her desk drawer before they left for lunch. But a dozen of her sugar cookies?

"Four sugar cookies." She bargained.

"C'mon, Mac." He protested. "Be fair. Gram gave you more cookies than she gave me!"

Mac laughed, warmed through and through by the truth in that statement. She was definitely crazy about Harm's grandmother.

"Oh, fine. Six cookies. And Gram says she's just making up for lost time."

He actually snorted at that.

"Ten sugar cookies, and six chocolate pixies." He threw back.

"You are not touching my chocolate pixies." She threatened, appalled he'd even suggest such a thing. "Eight sugar cookies. Final offer."

He gave it a moment's thought, and then nodded. "Fine. You get your mutt and a burger. I get Ho's for lunch and eight sugar cookies."

She grinned. Yes! She was getting a burger.

She squeezed his hand. "There's hope for you yet, with this compromising thing."

"Years of superior litigating and cutting deals, and it takes a burger to make you see the truth."

She shook her head, laughing. "Apparently the arrogance thing still needs work."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: A month passed in real time between the last episode and this one. I'll stick to that timeline. Episode is called 'Promises'. All you need to know is that the recruitment commercial is unveiled, a reception is held in that honour, and Bobbie attends the reception. Also Harm is defending a woman who claims her recruitment officer lied to her, and Mac is prosecuting. Mac calls Renée to the stand to testify due to her involvement in the recruitment ad. Harm cross examines Renée, Renée is upset over the cross, after which Harm accuses Mac of trying to mess with him by calling her to the stand.

--

**Insights - Part 10**

Mac's Apartment  
Wednesday  
1806 Local

Mac unlocked her door, and stepped into her apartment. Jingo was waiting for her with a warm, exuberant greeting. She bent down to his level, put down the package she was holding, and gave him a hug.

"Hey, baby. How're you doing? Were you good today?"

Jingo licked her face in confirmation, and Mac scratched him behind the ears just as he liked. Her dog panted happily.

"I'll just go change, put these away," She pointed to the box Jingo was sniffing, "And then we can go for a walk. How does that sound?"

Jingo licked her face again, and Mac had to smile. She'd really fallen hard for the mutt, as Harm liked to call him.

She sighed as she thought of Harm. She stood up, picking up her package, and sat down on the sofa, just letting her mind drift over the past month.

They'd had such little time to themselves, with an abnormally demanding workload and numerous out-of-town investigations. It did have the benefit of making them enjoy all their time together thoroughly – namely, that one entire weekend and the few interspersed weekdays they'd been under the same roof in the last month.

The downside, though, was that they hadn't really spent many long stretches of time together since her return from Germany. She remembered her conversation with Harriet: the hot new romance bit still hadn't faded. In fact, that one weekend they did get to spend together felt like their first weekend all over again. She was beyond glad that at least they were such good friends; it made it that much easier for them to connect in a somewhat meaningful way when they'd managed to talk over the phone or via email or even face to face in that last crazy little while.

And this most recent case they'd faced off on – the first case they'd been assigned to together, though as opposing counsel, in the last month – hadn't exactly allowed them to spend much time together off-duty. It also hadn't helped that she'd had to call Renée to the stand, or that Harm had cross-examined her. The poor woman looked like she couldn't decide whether to cry or rip Harm to shreds with those excessively long nails of hers. And Harm had felt bad enough to go after her, following her testimony when she'd pretty much run out of the courtroom.

Fine, Mac thought, she could understand. Harm was nothing if not chivalrous towards the opposite sex.

What galled her, though, was having Harm then come to her only to accuse her of calling Renée to the stand in an attempt to throw him off his game. Mac scoffed at the thought. His accusation had really upset her. She'd rather acerbically told him she didn't think he was so involved with Renée that his professionalism would suffer. He'd been about to retaliate with some undoubtedly cutting remark, when Bud and Harriet had suddenly approached them to announce that Harriet was pregnant.

Thank god for good timing. The news had made her and Harm's petty squabble shift to the backburner. She, for one, decided to just forget about it. She knew Renée was far from the real issue: if there were two things Harm hated, these were seeing a woman in distress, and losing. She'd learned that a long time ago. And how she felt about either of those wouldn't change the truth of them.

At least she'd been in town and able to attend the unveiling of Harm's debut in the recruitment ad industry the day before. She shook her head at remembering how she'd managed to find herself in the middle of a conversation with Renée and, of all people, Bobbie. Although even she couldn't deny that Bobbie had some very interesting reviews of Harm's acting performance. Between hers and Renée's off-colour comments, even Mac hadn't been able to keep from laughing. She knew Harm would be mortified if he knew what those two been talking of so she hadn't told him. As it was he hadn't looked too comfortable when he'd seen the three of them chattering away in a corner. Well, Renée and Bobbie had been chattering; she'd been too busy enjoying their banter and Harm's discomfiture.

Mac grinned as she heard the key turn in the lock. And here he was: all hers at the end of the day.

She looked up to greet him as he entered her apartment. Jingo happily trotted over to nuzzle Harm's legs.

"Hey," She watched as he bent down to scratch Jingo behind his ears.

"Hey," Harm grinned up at her. "Gram called, asked if you got her package."

"I did," Mac replied, indicating the box wrapped in brown paper. Her grin was unstoppable as she anticipated the mouth-watering contents she knew were contained within. "I love her cookies. I hope there are chocolate pixies in here."

He laughed as he untied his shoelaces. "I'm sure she put in a double supply, if you mentioned the pixies in your thank you letter to her after our visit."

"Oh, goody." Mac began unwrapping the box.

Harm slipped off his shoes and coat, and came to join her on the couch.

"Anyone stop you on your way over here for an autograph?" She teased. She pulled back the lid on the tin of cookies and found that Harm was right: double the amount of chocolate pixies she'd gotten last time. Score!

"Actually, my groupies are waiting for me by the tour van." He reached around her to grab a sugar cookie, and she decided he could have one, just this once.

She laughed at his rejoinder, and then turned to look at him.

"Did you manage to catch up with Renée outside court?" She asked, knowing that he probably had. And guessing it was what had led to him making that stupid comment about her trial tactics through witness selection. "She looked worked up after the cross."

He leaned back against the couch. "I did, just by the elevators." He grimaced. "I think it'd be accurate to say she never wants to see me again."

He then popped the entire cookie in his mouth.

Mac winced. "Sorry."

She also tried not to show how appalled she was at the way he'd wolfed that cookie down. Such things were meant to be savoured.

"Why?" He said around a mouthful of cookie. He shrugged, "It's not as though I'm interested in seeing her again."

"I should hope not." She laughed, relieved even though she knew she had no reason to worry. She shut the lid on the box to keep him from digging into her stash.

"Damn straight." He gathered her in his arms, and she more than gladly let him, setting her cookies aside. "All my time is currently being monopolized."

"I wish we had more time to monopolize." She loosened the knot in his tie before unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt.

"Tell me about it." He rubbed his nose against hers. His fingers were busy untucking her shirt.

"Hopefully work'll calm down a bit now."

"I think it will. I hope it does."

He brought his lips to hers, and she was all set for a full-fledged make-out session. With the added benefit that Harm tasted like sugar cookies.

"Mac." He mumbled around his kiss.

"Hm?" She could feel his warmth through his skin, where her hands rested on his neck and chest.

"About earlier, in the bullpen, right before we found out Harriet's pregnant..." He trailed off as she pulled away slightly from him.

"You mean when you accused me of calling Renée to the stand as part of some underhanded ploy?" She arched her eyebrow.

He grinned. "Yeah, that." He was looking at her with that tenderness again, and she was hard-pressed to resist him. "It was out of line."

"Damn straight it was, Sailor." She knew the expression on her face was completely at odds with the sternness of her words. She really was defenceless when he looked at her like that.

"Now that we've cleared that up, where were we?" The words had barely left his mouth when he moved to re-initiate their full-fledged make-out session.

A few minutes later – by this time he was half-reclining on the couch with his shirt partly unbuttoned, and she was mostly on top of him with her shirt fully unbuttoned – he pulled back, hands on her shoulders.

"You want to go out for dinner?"

"What? Now?" She asked, dazed by the sudden change of plans.

"Yeah." He nodded, but his hands were now on her hips, and he was kissing her throat. "We should go out more."

It was true, she thought, that they'd barely been out on many real dates. But she honestly didn't begrudge that lack. She'd enjoyed their few quiet dinners at home, lying tangled on the couch as they recovered from the stresses of the day and shared a pizza, eating right out of the box.

"If you want to," She finally answered, leaning forward to pick up where they'd left off. "A late dinner."

Instead of kissing her, he laughed. She could only frown in question, admittedly slightly petulant that he kept interrupting their necking marathon.

"You keep postponing meals for me." He bragged, an arrogant mischief running rampant in his expression.

Mac narrowed her eyes, and sat up straight, effectively moving out of his embrace.

"On second thought," She looked directly at him as she proceeded to re-button her shirt. "Let's go out for dinner now."

His eyes widened in surprise, then shone with merriment. He laughed again.

"Nice try." He held out his arms, and his tone turned enticingly soft. "Come back here, French fry."

She firmly held her ground, ignoring how his invitation really affected her. She crossed her arms to keep them from taking him up on his offer. She shook her head from side to side, biting her lip to tame the impudent grin that was fighting to be seen.

He raised his eyebrow as he watched her stand up in front of him. She saw some deep emotion flicker across his face, but couldn't identify it. Suddenly, Harm reached forward to grab her, caught her by the hem of her shirt and pulled her right back down onto his lap.

To her surprise, he enveloped her in a tight hug, and kissed her temple.

She smiled at the gesture. She'd definitely be spoiled for life if he kept being this affectionate with her. Something swift and sweet rushed through her, so she said the first thing that came to mind in an effort to distract herself from the feeling, even though she didn't know why she was doing it.

"I have to take Jingo for his walk." She whispered, silently enjoying the home she'd always found in his arms.

He nodded. "We can take him, and maybe eat at that bistro on M Street, the one with the dog dish outside."

"He loves that dog dish." She pulled back from the embrace to look at him.

"He loves anything that smells funky enough to give birth to new life forms on Mars." He answered back.

"Then we should have him try your meatless meatloaf." She teased.

He smiled in response, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched her.

She kissed his chin and pulled him up by his hand. "Let's go change, sailor."

"Lead the way."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Don't owne'm

A/N: Is it wrong that I absolutely hated what happened in the episode 'Drop Zone'? I think every sensibility I may have was offended – I may even have developed brand new sensibilities which were then offended due solely to that episode. So I changed it. What you need to know: Mac is facing off against Bud and Singer in a case. Case is about a parachutist who died executing a jump. Mac is prosecuting the officer who ordered the jumper to jump. Singer put a confidential file Mac was not supposed to have access to in her car. Mac reads file. File says the jump master was drunk day of the incident. A lot of unpalatable scenes later, Mac gets called on prosecutorial misconduct. But, like I said, I changed stuff.

--

**Insights - Part 11**

JAG HQ  
Tuesday  
1650 Local

Packed up for the day, Harm popped his head inside Mac's office.

"How about I cook you dinner tonight?" He asked without preamble. He was determined to cook tonight, not having had nearly enough time for it in the last long while.

"Yes, please!" She agreed enthusiastically, smiling up at him.

"It's going to be vegetarian lasagna." He warned.

She actually seemed to reconsider the offer, and he laughed knowing that she was teasing him.

"Oh, alright." She relented, breaking into a grin. "But I get to bring dessert."

"As long as you bring yourself, my dessert is covered." He flashed his grin.

"You do know how to charm a girl."

"Only the best for you, sweet thing." He replied with exaggerated swagger. "Oh, and before I forget, I left my gloves at your place last night. Could you bring them over?"

"Actually, I brought them with me to work. They're in the car. I think I'm going to be a while longer though - Gunny's following a lead for me. I want to wait just a bit in case he finds anything tonight."

"No problem. Could I borrow your keys? I'll just get the gloves now."

"Sure." She pulled open her drawer and threw him the keys.

"Thanks."

"Don't drive away with my car!" She called to his retreating form, a smile in her voice.

"I make no promises," He threw back over his shoulder.

Harm unlocked her car doors once in the parking lot, and pulled the passenger side door open. He caught sight of a folder, lying open on the seat. It was unlike Mac to leave stuff lying around, so he figured she must've forgotten it. He picked it up, thinking she might need it, and absently read the contents.

He frowned when he realized what he was looking at: proof that the jump master Mac was prosecuting had been drunk when he ordered the jump. How did this get in here – it was confidential data that she shouldn't have access to as prosecutor. It didn't make any sense.

He quickly took his gloves out of the glove compartment, slipped the file into his briefcase, and headed back up to Mac's office.

Once there, he studied her for a moment as she worked, before satisfying his curiosity.

"Hey, Mac, did you have any files lying in your car?"

She looked at him in surprise, and he watched her carefully as she considered his question.

"What? No. Why?" She was frowning, confused, and he knew her reaction was genuine.

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Her bewilderment multiplied.

He tried to find a way to dig deeper without arousing her suspicions. "Any word from Gunny?"

She laughed. "It's only been 10 minutes, 18 seconds."

"What are you waiting for him to come back to you with?"

"I suspect the jump master was drunk."

Harm frowned, thinking of the information in the file. "Any evidence?"

"No." She sighed. "The jump master has a prior conviction for drunk driving, but that's hardly conclusive. I went to speak with the primary investigator of the mishap, but he couldn't tell me anything about the confidential part of the mishap report. So I ordered Gunny to see what else he could come up with; we're trying to work another angle."

"So you haven't seen part B of the mishap report?"

"It's confidential." She repeated. "Prosecution can't view it. I'm hoping Gunny has more luck." Her curiosity was now piqued. "Why? You have something up your sleeve?"

"What?" He said distractedly, watching Singer with a wary eye as crossed the bullpen. He wouldn't put it past her. He got the impression that woman would sell her own grandmother if it served to further her ambitions – and he very clearly remembered how she'd eyed Mac at the admiral and Harriet's Chili cook-off.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to Mac. He shrugged off-hand.

"No. No, just wondering. Here are your keys," He threw them back to her, and then pointed one stern finger in her direction. "I'll see you for dinner, MacKenzie. Don't stay too late."

"I won't." Her head was already bent over her file.

He nodded, and left her office to intercept Singer as the junior officer finished making some photocopies.

"My office, Lieutenant." He ordered.

"Sir?" Singer asked, that expression of conceited disdain already firmly planted on her features.

Harm didn't wait for Singer to follow him as he walked off. He couldn't prove anything, but he was going to let her know that he was watching her, and he'd personally destroy the career of anyone who tried such underhanded tactics on his watch.

--

Harm's Apartment  
That night  
1954 Local

Candles flickered in the low light, and the smell of fresh flowers wafted from the bouquet he'd placed on the table, lending an intimate air to their dinner. He hadn't had the chance to do much of this for her, and had been immensely rewarded for his efforts by the look of pleasure on Mac's face when she'd seen the table setting.

His silent satisfaction, though, had given way to a slight trepidation as he debated how to broach the subject of Singer's actions. Alleged actions, he corrected himself. He had no proof.

"So," He started idly, "Did Gunny come back with anything?"

"He's still working on it. But he did say it looks promising. He's going to give me a full report in the morning."

"Good to hear." Harm hesitated. He cleared his throat. "What do you make of Singer so far?"

Mac gave him her patented wry look; one eyebrow raised, head cocked to the side.

"Besides her master plan to make it to the top by crushing everyone who comes in her way?"

Harm laughed. "She is a shark."

"She is." Mac agreed.

"She wants to be the first female JAG." He revealed the intel he'd acquired during his impromptu encounter with the younger officer.

Mac choked on her water.

"What?! You're kidding?"

"Nope. She told me so herself."

"What possessed her to do that?" She inquired, puzzled.

Harm shrugged. "She has no compunctions about making her plan known, I guess."

He decided to leave the rest of the story out. Mac would be angry, and probably confront Singer since it wasn't in her nature to back down from people who threatened her. God knows what a cornered Singer would do. He'd make sure to watch Mac's six instead. It was his responsibility, after all, both professionally and personally.

"Wow." She mouthed, digesting this tidbit.

"Point is, Mac," Harm tried to tread carefully, knowing that she had yet to accept it was alright for him to defend her interests for her. "I think she sees you as a threat."

"What?" Mac was genuinely confused. "Me?"

"Come on, you're a senior officer at JAG HQ, you're already a Lt Colonel at your age. You're a formidable litigator."

She stared at him.

"What?" He asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Um, I guess I just, well, thank you." Now she looked like she didn't know how to react to his words.

"It's the truth." He shrugged, trying to shake the sudden feeling of self-consciousness under her scrutiny. He wasn't used to being so forthright with compliments, definitely not with her.

Mac sighed and pushed her food around her plate. "She doesn't have to worry about me though, and she probably knows it. With my admiral's mast and Article 32..." She trailed off with a hard-won resignation. "It'll take a lot of work more on my part before I'm much of a threat to anyone."

"Mac." He said sternly, cutting through her self-deprecation.

She looked up at him still steeped somewhere in her thoughts, waiting for him to speak.

"Just keep an eye on her. The only person whose interests she has at heart is herself. And I wouldn't count you out of the running just yet."

She gave him a slight smile.

"Hey," He said, changing the subject. Enough brooding for one night. "So guess what the admiral asked me today?"

"What?"

"He wanted to know what the best place to take a 'female companion' for a weekend getaway is." He grinned.

Mac's jaw dropped. She stared at him in shocked amusement.

"What? Really?" She shook her head, laughing. "You're playing me."

"No, I'm serious." He sat a little straighter in his chair, and added with a cocky air, "Said that because I have such an active social life, he thought I'd know."

"He said that to you!" Mac burst into a laughter that was hearty enough to make Harm question the merits of sharing this story with Mac. She leaned forward in her chair, a mischievous curiosity lit up her eyes. "What did you say?"

"Virgin Islands." He wondered how Mac would feel about a getaway like that...

"Really?" She stretched out the word coyly. "So how many rendezvous' have you had there, Commander?"

He told himself he wasn't blushing. Now there was no way he could take her there: she'd rag him mercilessly the entire trip.

"I'm going to plead the fifth on that." He said with all the dignity he could muster.

"You Cassanova!" She teased, then immediately asked, "Did you find out who the 'female companion' is?"

"No." He shook his head – and Mac said she wasn't a gossip. "Not for lack of trying."

She laughed. "He has been in a good mood lately."

"Almost jolly," Harm agreed. "Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Indeed not." She answered, a smile still lighting up her face. She looked really good in candlelight, he decided.

He'd have to think of someplace really remote and original to take her – maybe one of the smaller Hawaiian islands ... A private beachfront cottage ... a really big, really comfortable bed with an ocean view ... their own stretch of sand and sea ... Mac in a bikini ... Mac skinny dipping in the moonlight...

"Hey," A thought suddenly occurred to him. "I didn't see you carrying anything when you came in. What's for dessert?"

She raised one enticing eyebrow at him.

"I'm here aren't I?"

He grinned, reaching for her hand.

"Well then, French fry," He winked at her, "I'm ready for the next course."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Episode is 'Witches of Gulfport'. The one where Mac is undercover in a Wicca group on some base. Harm and Bud join her in official capacity a few days into her assignment.

I wanted to add more stuff to this part (I usually try to make some adjustments after reading your reviews), but I've caught a cold or some such that threatens to be nasty, so I'm down for the count. Hopefully will be feeling better, and will not neglecting the daily posts.

--

**Insights 12/23**

Mac's Apartment  
Tuesday  
1235 Local

"Alright." Mac said briskly as she exited her bedroom door, duffel in hand, and Jingo trotting behind her. "I'm off. I'll see you and Bud in a few days, right?"

"You most definitely will. Do you have enough newt's eye to tide you over until then?"

"The witch jokes are not funny, Harm."

"Sure they are, Mac." He grinned. "It's just that your kind don't have a sense of humour."

She rolled her eyes, and he knew she was counting to ten in a couple of different languages just to keep her cool. He laughed.

"I'll walk the mutt while you're gone. Then I'll drop him off at Louise's before I join you." He said to prevent her from retaliating at the fun he was having at her expense.

He took a step closer to her, struggling not to voice his concerns about this case, or his worry for her. She'd take it as an offense, he knew, even if he didn't mean it that way.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." He trailed his fingers along her cheekbone.

"Oh, I have something for you." She gave him a full-blown smile, replete with excitement and mischief.

"What?" He asked, unsure if he really wanted to know what she had up her sleeve. He'd fallen victim to her sharp sense of humour more than once.

She reached into her purse, and handed him her offering.

He looked at the package in her hands.

"A Clif bar," She proclaimed grandly.

He tried to contain his laughter at her expression of unadulterated excitement. It was a wasted effort.

"It's an all-natural, organic protein bar." She explained, smiling even more widely now, her eyes sparkling. "Made with soy."

He knew exactly what a Clif bar was.

She shrugged happily. "Every time you go away on assignment, I get a Snickers bar. I thought this was only fair."

"How long have you been waiting to leave on assignment so you could give me one of these?" He asked, still chuckling as he took the bar from her. In that crazy month where they barely saw tail or hide of the other, he'd always been the first one assigned away, and he usually came back after she left for her assignments. It had been a frustrating trend, to come back and not have her here.

"So very, very long," She answered, with exaggerated drama. "I hope this one hasn't passed its expiry date."

He laughed full out.

"Thank you." He said warmly, and pulled her in for a tight hug. "You be careful. No heroics."

"I'll save that for you." She replied, teasing.

"I'm serious, Mac." He pulled back slightly so he could see her face. His hands stayed firmly around her waist. "You're investigating allegations of sexual assault."

He felt her tense under his hands. She studied him carefully for a moment.

"You know I can take care of myself."

"It's what I'm counting on." He replied just as carefully. He'd been working on what he would say to her since he'd first heard of the case. Hopefully he'd found an answer that wouldn't have her throwing up the fierce shields of self-sufficiency she'd built during her younger years.

The tension suddenly left her bearing, and the room suddenly seemed a bit brighter, a bit bigger.

"Good answer, Counsellor." She smiled that smile he'd claimed as his.

"I've been practicing." He replied glibly, not wanting her to see just how relieved he was that he hadn't stuck his foot in his mouth. He added for good measure, "Don't want you to casting a hex on me."

She rolled her eyes. "On that note: I'll see you and Bud when you arrive."

He held her still, not making a move to either release her or reach down for a kiss. He raised an expectant eyebrow. Mac mirrored his expression, though slightly confused, until she realized what he was waiting for. Then she giggled.

She shook her head at him, still smiling, and placed her hands on his chest. Slowly, she stood up on her toes and brought her lips to his.

Harm grinned, falling into her kiss. He loved it when she stretched up on her toes to kiss him. There was just something about it.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Episode is 'Overdue and Presumed Lost'. All you need to know is that the admiral assigned Harm the budget, because he handled it so well last year (last year, though, Bud helped).

--

**Insights 13/23**

Harm's Apartment  
Wednesday  
2048 Local

Mac entered Harm's apartment, and found him seated on his sofa. A very thick binder and a mess of papers were laid out on the coffee table.

"Evening." She greeted.

"Hey," He replied over his shoulder. It was a singularly unenthusiastic reply.

"You okay?" She asked, walking over to see what he was up to. She recognized that binder. "The budget?"

"Yeah." He sighed, sounding as forlorn as she'd ever heard him. "Admiral assigned it to me. Said I did such a great job last year."

"Didn't Bud help you last year?" She couldn't help teasing him; he looked so pitiful.

He rewarded her with a withering look.

"Power down, Navy," She relented, laughing. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Have you seen how thick this binder is? Not to mention boring?"

"Yeah," She nodded, contemplating the binder. "Very boring binder. You should replace it with a brighter colour. Maybe a polka dot pattern cover or one with little airplanes..."

He huffed, and made a big show of ignoring her. This only fuelled Mac's laughter. She slid next to him on the couch, and planted a kiss on the stubborn set of his jaw.

"I can help." She declared. She began browsing through the papers in front of her, already reaching for a pen and legal pad.

"You're actually offering to help?" He eyed her, full of scepticism.

She shrugged. "Why not. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can move on to something better."

He grinned. Now that, he thought, sounded more like it. "Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"I'm in the mood for a game of Scrabble."

Harm tried to hide the utter deflation he felt at her answer. Scrabble? This evening was just getting worse and worse. Mac caught his obvious reaction, though, and laughed.

"You ever played strip Scrabble, sailor?" She ran her finger along the collar of his summer whites.

Harm suddenly felt reinvigorated – Mac and strip in the same thought tended to do that. He raised an eyebrow, rakish grin in place, "No, but I think I'm going to like it."

"I don't know about that." She tugged his collar before letting go. "I'm really good at Scrabble, Harm."

"I'm really good at stripping, Mac. It's win-win."

She laughed in delight, and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder.

"Alright." She squared herself in front of the swathes of papers sprawled over his coffee table. "Let's get down to business."

"You sure you want to help?" He gave her one last out, hoping she wouldn't take it. If their places were reversed, he wasn't so sure he'd be offering to help out.

"Yes, Harm, I'm sure. Unless you want to call Bud at this time of night and ask him for his help. I'm pretty good with numbers. And once my mom left, it was up to me to make sure that there was enough money to pay the bills and buy food, after dad spent his 'cut' on liquor. Although," She added absently, her eyes perusing the document in front of her. "I wasn't beyond skimming off the top to supply my own habit."

He almost had to do a double take at how she so easily spoke about that time in her life – seemingly without even realizing it – when he normally had to browbeat even the tiniest sliver of information out of her, or wait for them to be stuck in some form of traumatic situation. It took a moment for his brain to kick start into realizing he should say something, recognize what she was offering.

"So you were into creative accounting that early on, were you?" The moment the words came out of his mouth, he regretted it. Idiot. He could have kicked himself for seeming to make light of what she'd said, when she was opening the door to so much more.

"Is there any other kind of accounting?" She replied, giving him an amused glance.

She shifted her attention back to the papers in front of her as though their exchange was completely normal, while he tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

Although, after a silent moment he watched her expression turn serious, distant.

"And it sure beat the alternative." She muttered under her breath. He wasn't sure he was meant to hear her.

"What was the alternative?" He asked anyways, though he was hesitant. He wasn't so sure he even wanted to know.

She went completely still, not looking at him. He saw a hint of alarm behind her eyes, as though she'd just realized she'd spoken out loud. He decided she hadn't intended for him to hear her quiet comment. He also felt a slight brush of irritation that she still harboured the need to be on her guard with him.

"You know, we should get to work on this if we want a hope of finishing at a reasonable hour." She changed the subject as easily as she'd broached it.

He watched her as she concentrated on the budget papers in her lap. He could see the walls go up around her, with her discomfort keeping sentry.

He decided to let her be, for now. He'd get it out of her one day, he resolved, and tried to ignore the annoyance that usually surged when he couldn't see some hidden part of her. They'd been seeing each other for a while now, had gotten closer than they'd ever been, and at times like this he still sensed like he was being kept at arm's length from her.

Harm sighed. No point thinking about it now, he – they – had a budget to work on.

He bent his head to the dreary task awaiting him. It was all Bud's fault, he decided, for being so efficiently helpful last time around.

--

_The next day._

Harm was leaning against the copying machine, discussing a case with Mac and – because he was not the kind to let a good opportunity pass him by – flirting lightly with her.

"Commander." The admiral appeared next to Harm.

"Sir," Harm straightened, suddenly worried that the admiral had misinterpreted his casual stance, and was about to rip into him for needing a chaperone. But he hadn't done anything, really. He covered anyways. "The Colonel and I were just discussing the Billings Case..."

He trailed off as he saw Mac roll her eyes at him. She bent her head over the copier to hide her smile.

The admiral, thankfully, was still in too good of an everyday mood over the new woman in his life, and didn't notice the by-play. Harm could only wonder at the man: to be so thrown off his A-game by a woman.

"Great work, Commander." The admiral said grandly. It was then that Harm noticed his CO was holding the budget in his hands.

"Well, Sir," Harm glanced at Mac, and tried not to get lost in memories of that uniquely enjoyable game of Scrabble they'd played last night. "The Colonel offered to help—"

"Nonsense, Rabb. Don't be so modest." The admiral waved a hand to stop Harm from saying more. Harm couldn't tell if the admiral was toying with him. "In fact, consider next year's budget officially part of your duties."

Definitely toying with him.

Seeming satisfied with this act of delegation, the admiral headed back to his office with a slight bounce to his step.

Harm watched in shock as the admiral walked away. Dammit. That just sucked. This was all Mac's fault.

He shot a glare at her, and found that she was trying very hard not to laugh at this development.

"Ugh." He huffed. He had no words to do justice to how upsetting this was.

She, however, was having a lot of fun at his expense.

"You know this just means you're going to have to help me next year." He challenged, crossing his arms.

"I look forward to it." She said, smiling his smile.

He softened at how she was looking at him – it made him feel like today was the best day of his week. Which was pretty much how he felt each time she looked at him with that glow in her eyes. Maybe working the budget annually wasn't such a bad thing.

"Is that so, French fry?" He said in a low voice. He took the risk of giving the lapel of her uniform jacket a light tug even though they were in the copy room – it didn't really count as a PDA, after all.

He really, really wished they weren't at work.

"Although, you need to work on your Scrabble game," She teased.

"You kept distracting me!" His protest was immediate, and loud. He quickly lowered his voice to a whisper, even though no one else was in the room. "You said strip Scrabble, not strip-and-stroke Scrabble."

The glint in her eye turned devilish, and he had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from touching her.

"I didn't distract you into trying to pass off 'exzuj' on the triple word score." She replied pertly, as she turned and headed back towards her office. "Next time, you might want to try to get me to remove more than just my socks."

His smile transformed into a full blown grin as he watched her retreating form. He was never one to back down from a good challenge.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Episode is 'Real Deal SEAL'. All you need to know is that Harm is defending a SEAL who, in an effort to flush out an assassin (unrelated to his case, I think), takes a hit out on Harm. Harm of course goes along, bunch of stuff happens, and Harm goes to face the assassin on his own, somewhere far and isolated. He doesn't tell Mac any of this, and only asks her to get a continuance in court – she's prosecuting the SEAL – while he goes after the assassin, whom he ends up killing.

--

**Insights 14/23**

Harm's SUV  
En route from the airport  
Friday  
0838 Local

"Are you alright?" Mac asked from the passenger seat. She'd been throwing appraising glances in his direction since she'd found out the whole story. He'd been thankful that she'd let him be, and slept through most of the flight back to DC. It had put off the conversation he sensed she wanted to have.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He answered easily.

"You killed a man." She hesitated, watching him more openly now, "Want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine." He said, and hoped his tone would put an end to this topic.

"You know, you can trust me." She made it sound as though he didn't know, which was ludicrous. Not to mention upsetting.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you'd told me what was going on." She said unexpectedly. "You could've trusted me to watch your six."

He took a breath. He should've realized she'd want to analyze this.

"I know, Mac." He meant it.

She turned to look out her window, deep in thought.

The silence was starting to get to him.

"Mac. I was worried you'd overreact."

"Overreact?" There was a hard edge to her tone as she turned to look at him. "About the fact that your client hired an assassin to kill you?"

"See what I mean." He answered impatiently.

"Harm." She warned in response to his attitude. "You assured me you weren't involved in any of Rivers' crazy schemes. You asked me to go to the judge for a continuance with no explanation and I did, based solely on the fact that I trust you. Obviously, trusting your judgment was my first mistake."

"I didn't think you'd understand." He rebutted, trying to bite back his anger at that barb. "And by the looks of it, I was right."

"What I don't understand is how Rivers can appeal to your ego and actually end up getting you to go along with his half-assed ideas. You and your testosterone. You are such a ... a man sometimes.

"I'd hope so," He joked, sensing she wasn't going to budge on this point.

She sighed. "Harm, I learned a long time ago that once you set your mind to something, it's a waste of time to try and talk you out of it, no matter how ill-advised. All I can do is make sure that I'm watching your six, be it was your partner or your friend or anything else, and I can't do that if you keep me in the dark."

He put his hand on her knee, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He attempted to make amends, even though he didn't think he'd done much of anything ill-advised. "You know it's not that I don't trust you."

"Then? What am I supposed to think?" She asked. He hated it when she levelled that hurt look in his direction.

He also hated admitting he was wrong – not that he was wrong here, his actions were just being misinterpreted – let alone apologizing.

He cleared his throat. "So I didn't go about it the right way, and I shouldn't have kept you in the dark." Then he added, "Even if things worked out in the end."

She turned to look at him; he thought she even seemed slightly amused. She raised her eyebrow. "Is that an apology?"

"Consider it an acknowledgment." He offered.

She studied him intently for a moment, before shaking her head with a fond exasperation. "Acknowledgment accepted."

They shared a grin, but she was quick to sober.

"You sure you're alright? This is me you're talking to." She put her hand on top of his, where it was resting on her leg.

"I'm fine, Mac." He said warmly, and squeezed her knee. "Thanks."

She seemed sort of satisfied, so he jumped at the chance to change the subject.

"We'll head to your place?" He asked.

She nodded. "Makes sense. I think your fridge is empty."

She fell into a silence, and he left her to it as his thoughts wandered over the events of the past few days. He didn't think he should've done anything differently. Rivers was the kind of crazy it was best to keep Mac away from. And he could handle himself.

"Harm." Her voice cut through his thoughts. She sounded unsure of something.

"Yeah." He threw her an inquisitive glance.

"You think I'm being unfair to Jingo?"

"What?" He exclaimed. "How?"

"I mean, I'm almost always off somewhere on assignment, and he's stuck being carted from Louise's to my place and sometimes to yours. He's ageing, and..." She trailed off.

"Mac, Jingo's fine. You've given him a great home. He gets food, treats and trips to that park just up the street. This for a dog who was going to be put down because the DEA thought he'd passed his usefulness."

She contemplated his words for a moment with her eyes fixed on him, and then broke into a slow smile.

"You know Chloe said I have a thing for strays."

He laughed. "Did she?"

"Yup," She answered, and he recognized her playful teasing mood. "Says it's something you and I have in common."

"Hey, you remember what Chloe said, when she came by JAG that first time?" He could give as good as he got. Besides, he was curious.

Suddenly, though, Mac was far from chatty.

"No." Was her too-quick reply.

He checked his blind spot, only so that he could hide his grin from her.

"That's alright. I can jog your memory." He was in a charitable mood.

"That's the exit to my place," Mac said unnecessarily; he was already halfway up the exit ramp.

He ignored her lame attempt at redirection.

"She said that you talked about me all the time." He gave her that cocky expression that always netted him a roll of her eyes and sometimes even an indulgent smile. "Fantasized about me, even."

She rolled her eyes, but no smile was forthcoming. Harm's grin widened; this time he made no attempt at hiding it.

"Yeah, well Chloe also told the admiral he should ask me out." She informed him.

Harm choked on his laughter, even as he gave her points for an impressive attempt at redirection.

He decided to grant her a momentary reprieve.

"She did not." He challenged.

"Oh, yes she did." Mac was blushing even as she said this. "I thought was I was going to die of embarrassment."

"How'd the admiral take it?"

A marked silence was his only reply.

He looked over at her when he realized no answer seemed imminent. She was examining her hands where they rested on her lap. He had to smile that she was still embarrassed over the incident.

"He was surprisingly gracious, once I apologized." She finally said.

Harm grinned, and decided she was uncomfortable enough about this topic to make it the subject of future ribbing. He could already imagine the fun he was going to have needling her. Speaking of having fun needling her...

"So," He said slowly, thoroughly enjoying himself. "You fantasized about me, French fry?"

"There's my building," She said, once again unnecessarily; he was already midway through parallel parking his SUV right by the front entrance.

"C'mon, Mac." He couldn't control his mad grin as he put the car in park and devoted his full attention to her. "You know, silence is as good as a confession."

"Harm." She said in that tone of infinite patience. "Chloe lied quite a lot back then, before her life settled down a bit, you know that. She saw you, figured you were the best looking guy at the office, and she spun her web."

"So you think I'm the best looking guy at the office!" He pounced on her statement, his vindication back in full force. Not to mention his ego: Mac thought he was hot, way back then. "It was the dress whites and gold wings all along, wasn't it?" He bragged, with a self-satisfied arrogance that usually got a rise out of her. "You just can't resist me, can you French fry."

She sighed heavily as she pulled open her door and hopped out.

"You are hopeless," She muttered as she walked away, followed by the sound of his laughter.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Episode is 'Body Talk', in which we find out that Theresa Coulter's abusive dad is in jail for murdering her mum. Theresa hasn't spoken to her dad since – it's been ten years. The case is being reopened, Harm is representing Coulter's dad. A bunch of stuff happens, and we find out that Theresa's mum actually committed suicide, and that her dad just felt guilty this whole time. Also, dad was verbally abusive, but there was only one instance of physical abuse towards his wife a little while before she died. Important bit is that at the end of the show, Mac talks to Theresa outside the courtroom once her dad is released, and gets her to take the first step in reconciling with her father.

--

**Insights 15/23**

Mac's Apartment  
Monday  
2108 Local

Harm watched Mac as they sat together on the couch. She'd been quiet and, he thought, a bit down since the she'd spoken with Theresa outside the courtroom. There was a sadness to her as she'd watch Theresa approach her father to talk to him for the first time in ten years. He wondered what was going through her head. Was she drawing parallels to her own life? Or maybe wishing she'd had a chance to talk to her father one more time? Or was she wondering if it would have made a difference if her mother had abandoned life, rather than just her life?

He hadn't heard what she'd told Theresa, but whatever it was, it had caused a ten year rift to somehow seem bridgeable.

She hadn't said much to him since he'd arrived at her apartment, and had been quiet throughout dinner. What surprised him, though, was how she'd neatly fitted herself next to him on the couch after dinner, and wrapped her arms around him. Since then - Harm estimated a half hour - she'd held on tightly, not saying a word.

Harm lightly rubbed his hands along her back, rested his chin on the top of her head, and wondered for the umpteenth what he should say, if he should say anything at all.

He remembered his grandmother's words, and wished he had some of her wisdom right about now. This was unchartered territory, and so far she'd refused to consciously broach this particular topic with him unless he pushed. And he knew from experience how defensive and confrontational she got when he even brought it up.

No guts, no glory.

"It was a good thing you did for Theresa and her dad." He hazarded, trying to keep his tone as quiet and comforting as he knew how.

Mac shrugged, but didn't say anything. He thought he felt her tense fractionally, but might have imagined it.

"You regret not getting a chance to talk to your dad?"

She went absolutely still, which made him think she was holding her breath. She didn't say anything. He was about to try another approach, when she finally spoke.

"I don't know if I'd call it regret," She said slowly. She settled in for a long pause, finally continuing in as measured a tone, "It might have been easier if I'd been able to talk to him."

"What would have been easier?" He asked, trying to understand this part of her. Frankly, he was elated she was talking about it at all.

She shrugged again. "Don't know. Life?"

Harm kissed her hair, hiding his smile at her impossibly vague, evasive answer. Talking to Mac, he decided, was like flying without a radar.

"He kept clippings of me in his wallet." She said after countless more minutes of silence. "I found out when I went to see him at the hospice. Newspaper clippings. Photos." She sighed. "All those years. I don't understand."

Harm didn't say anything, instead running his hand along her arm, placing kisses in her hair. He wondered if her pensive mood had to do with why, unlike Theresa's dad, her father had never attempted to contact her.

"Maybe you do understand him." Harm ventured, waiting for her to pounce on him for crossing a line she'd drawn in concrete when she was a teenager. "On some level."

"What do you mean?" She frowned, and lifted her head slightly to look at him. Her hold on him hadn't abated yet, but he figured it was only a matter of time before her defences kicked in.

"Well," He attempted to tread carefully. "He loved you, and he cared about you. The clippings in his wallet are evidence of that." He was going to add something about her mother as well, but decided against it.

Her frown deepened, and he knew she wasn't seeing his point. There was no mistaking the tension radiating through her body now. He tried not to react to it although he wasn't so sure he was successful.

He decided that he'd changed his mind: talking to Mac was more like walking through a minefield without a map.

"Your dad was an alcoholic," He continued, and felt her frame turn to steel beneath his touch, cold and unyielding. He hastened to add, "Granted I don't have the personal experience you do—"

She pulled away from him, her jaw tightened, her entire demeanour distrustful. Underneath her confrontational posture, he could see her discomfort with this topic. She never talked about it, and this was her way of protecting herself. Protecting herself from what, though, he didn't know.

"I mean growing up with an abusive, alcoholic parent, Mac," He said quickly, trying to get through her defences. "And you, well..." He hesitated, searching for the words.

"You can say it, Harm, I'm a drunk too. Who better to understand his behaviour." She was being abrasive, he realized, in an attempt to get him to drop the subject.

"That's not what I mean." He said, fighting to find his patience. He wasn't one who tolerated such baseless accusations from anyone, regardless of the reasons behind it.

"And you do have experience with a drunk." She continued, her tone cold, eyes blazing. "With me. Is that where you're getting this insight from?"

"Power down, marine." He sat up straight now, his hackles raised that she would turn the tables like this, and do them both such an injustice.

"I don't want to talk about this." She was getting angry.

"Mac. That's just it. You never talk about this." He couldn't understand where her anger was coming from. Hadn't she reached a resolution of some form after visiting her dying father? She'd told him as much during their New Year's phone call. He wondered how the situation Theresa and her father could dredge up that many issues for Mac. "Where is this coming from?"

She didn't answer him, just looked like she was poised for flight if he said anything further. He could feel the edginess radiating from her, could feel the effort she was putting into remaining seated.

"Talk to me, Mac."

"I'd rather not." She replied impatiently.

"I thought, after your father died, that you got some closure." He tried again.

"Dammit, so did I!" She scrambled off the couch and briskly stepped away from him.

"But you know what? There won't be any closure on this, Harm! I didn't even get to confront him!" Her voice rose steadily, but he could see she was still trying to contain herself. Her words, however, continued in their heedless torrent.

"He was a drunk. He hit my mom. That was wrong. She left me, him. And I have no idea in hell if that was wrong or not." She jabbed her arms to emphasize her point, her movements cutting through the air as he watched her vent. "And then I left him. Was that wrong too? On some days I feel guilty, and other days I hate him. On some days I wonder if I should've tried harder, been stronger, and other days I wonder if he would've ended up hitting me if I'd stayed. But then, Uncle Matt didn't abandon me. Yet I abandoned my dad." She seemed to lose steam with that last sentence. He watched as she stared at the floor, arms crossed. She looked as surprised by the outburst as he was. She also looked embarrassed.

"You are not your father," He calmly pointed out. "And you are not your mother."

She didn't say anything, just looked away. He waited.

"You can't understand." She finally said.

"You were a kid, Mac." He said gently.

"No excuse." Her tone was stiff and inflexible, and as rigid as her posture.

"From a dysfunctional home."

"So now I'm dysfunctional." She threw her arms up, and turned away from him, her sarcasm slicing through the air, aiming for him.

"Stop being so defensive about this." He felt his control slipping in the face of her obstinacy, her insistence to separate herself from everyone around her. "Fine, be angry. But don't take it out on me."

"You're right." She abruptly walked away from him, towards her room. "I'm going for a run."

"What? Now?" He stared at her, utterly confused. He was finding her unpredictable behaviour increasingly upsetting. He stood up, and made to follow her. "Let me come with you. It's late—"

She stopped, with her back turned to him.

"I can take care of myself, Harm." Her tone was surprisingly soft, given her recent blow-out. "I'd rather be alone."

He didn't like this. Not one bit.

"Come on, Mac. Let me in."

She turned around, a clear warning in her eyes.

"Don't make this bigger than it is—"

"Bigger than it is?" He tried not to sound as incredulous as he felt. "You're obviously upset but instead of talking about it, you're going for a run. Alone."

She looked at him, unsure, hands tightly fisted by her side.

"I won't breathe a word." He tried to convince her, "I'll run ten paces behind you. You won't even know I'm there."

"I will." She said, exasperated. "I always know where you are."

"Isn't that my line?" He hazarded a smile, thinking maybe he'd softened her a bit.

She looked away. "Harm. Please." Her tone was resigned. She rarely ever pleaded with him. "I just need some time to myself. Go home."

That startled him. He thought he was home. Her comment hurt more than he thought it would. His patience cracked, and unleashed a flood of angry frustration to silt any bruised feelings. He clenched his jaw, trying to remind himself of Gram's words, but it was no use. All he could see was her pushing him away, when he'd only tried to give her reason to trust him. Apparently, it was all for nothing.

"Fine, Mac. Go." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Let me know when I'm worth your time again."

He walked past her, towards her front door, not bothering to wait for her response.

--

Mac watched him go, knowing she couldn't bear for him to walk away, knowing she wouldn't be able to face herself in the morning if she was the reason for his walking out.

"Harm," She took a step towards him. "Wait—"

"Whatever, Mac." He cut her off instantly. "If this is how you want it." And he walked out her front door, slamming it shut behind him.

Mac stared at the closed door, her anger steadily mounting. That was not fair. Just what she needed: a sulking, spiteful Harm on top of everything else. Damn it. Why couldn't just one thing 

in her life be easy? She just wanted one night of his comforting presence, no questions asked. But no. He had to push and nag and insist. Mac huffed. Damn it. It wasn't fair. Everything was a freakin' battle.

She headed to her room to change. She was going for a run. A fast, hard one.

--

Harm's Apartment  
Monday  
2302 Local

Mac stood outside Harm's apartment, and knocked on his door. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself she was losing nothing in coming here tonight. The run had done her good, but it had also made her feel like a complete jerk for making him leave – for sending him away – when he was only following his usual MO: getting her to talk about things she'd rather never think about.

The door swung open to reveal Harm. She offered a tentative smile.

"I didn't think you'd come." He said warily.

She gave a nervous laugh. "That's the second time you've said that to me. Maybe we both need to have a little more faith."

He nodded with a half smile of his own.

She looked at her feet, then at him. "I don't like leaving things like that."

"Me neither."

"I, I love you," The words almost didn't come out. She made no move to walk closer to him. She felt so bare, saying those words to him after he'd left her apartment like that. Exposed. She tried to shake her sudden unease. "You know that."

He nodded, something shifting in his eyes, deepening, strengthening. There was that tenderness again, waiting for her.

She had a hard time looking him in the eye.

"I just, I need to be alone tonight." Truth was she was too angry and upset and sad and busy trying not to figure out why, to be much good to anyone. "I'm not good company tonight."

He looked away at that, shaking his head and obviously displeased. He pursed his lips.

"Harm, please, don't be upset, I just..."

"What do you want from me, Mac?" He asked, cutting off her fumbled attempts at self-explanation.

She stared at him. She knew exactly what she wanted. It was what she'd wanted back at her apartment, just sitting with him, being held by him. But she couldn't bear to ask for it, verbalize it. This wasn't something she'd ever had an easy time asking for, let alone having someone she felt comfortable enough to want it from.

She shook her head instead of saying anything. The lump in her throat was bordering on painful, choking her lungs.

"I..." She glanced down the long hallway towards the elevator doors, not really seeing anything. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned on her heel and left.

--

Harm watched her go, leaning his arm against the door. It had taken all his willpower to keep his mouth shut when she'd come, and the one question he'd let slip had her looking like he'd sawed her in half. What _did_ she want from him?

He should've said that he didn't need her to be good company tonight.

She should've known that spending time with her, regardless of her mood, beat any alternative he could think of. Well, unless that time happened to be spent on a plane.

Harm sighed.

He should've just wrapped her in his arms and refused to let go.

She should've just asked, it was all she had to do, and he would have done just that...

_I love you.._.

They hadn't exchanged those three words since their first night.

_Go home._

Harm realized with a start that he was still leaning against his open door, lost in thought. He didn't know how long she'd been gone for, but he was now just staring at an empty hallway. He shook his head briskly, and re-entered his apartment.

If she wanted to be alone, fine. If she didn't want to tell him what the hell it was she expected from him, wanted from him, fine. He'd give her tonight. Tomorrow, though, they were going to have to talk this out.

Maybe she needed some reassurance, to hear those three words? The thought galled him; she had to know how he felt. He'd made it clear enough. For god's sake, he'd taken her to visit his grandmother.

_You can't tread lightly on her heart._

But he wasn't, he told himself. Besides, Mac was tough

_Because she's had to be._

Harm sighed. The minefield analogy seemed more apt than ever.

His thoughts were again interrupted, this time by the phone ringing. He stared at it, wondering, hoping it was Mac calling him. He took a step towards the phone, hesitant to pick it up only because he knew it wouldn't be Mac.

The answering machine made his decision for him, and a familiar voice drifted through the silence, one he hadn't heard in ... how many months had it been? Since he switched designators back to JAG...

"Harm, hi. This is Jordan. I came back a little while ago from my assignment in Spain..."

He wasn't in the mood to talk, despite the incongruity of her calling him. Tonight, he was going to be woman-free. They were too damn complicated and difficult. He left the machine to tend to the call, and opted for the comfort of a hot shower before falling into bed.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Busy day tomorrow, so am posting this tonight. This is where I start making stuff up, and messing with the timeline. Surface Warfare stuff doesn't really apply, even though sequentially this happens around that time. So I guess you could consider this to be like the season finale drama, if you want. Fortunately, you won't have to wait three months of summer for the whole story, only one day in fact.

I really thought you guys would guess where this was going, based on Jordan's call to Harm, but I won't complain about having the element of surprise on my side.

--

**Insights – 16/23**

Harm's Apartment  
Monday  
2134 Local

Mac stood outside Harm's door, and could only wonder at the circumstances of the last week. Most significant was Jordan's murder. That had been a shock. Then to find out she'd called Harm the day she'd died, tried to get in touch with him, though Mac wasn't exactly sure why. Harm had been silent on the topic. In fact, other than the absolute essentials relating to work and the investigation into Jordan's murder, Harm hadn't said much of anything. Only that Jordan had left a message on his machine, and when he'd called her back, a detective had answered the phone. Jordan had been found dead.

First NCIS had suspected Harm, which seemed to be the usual MO for any and all murder investigations with six degrees of separation from him, Mac thought. Then they'd thought suicide. Harm had refused to believe it and called in Theresa Coulter. She'd uncovered a trail to murder. Mac and Bud had investigated further, along with Harm, and they'd followed the leads all the way to the mentally unstable wife of one of Jordan's patients.

She'd killed Jordan, suspecting her of having an affair with her husband.

And once this had come out, she'd seen neither tail nor hide of Harm. They were still on shaky ground, following their ... disagreement last week. She didn't know what to expect from him when she entered his apartment, and frankly, she was nervous. He hadn't answered any of her phone calls over the weekend, and he hadn't been in the office all day.

Mac removed the spare key from its usual spot, deciding that the last few months, if not years, had earned her the right to enter without knocking when she knew he needed someone to talk to, whether or not he actually wanted to talk ... The fact that his door was locked indicated that he didn't want to talk. But as long as he knew she was here for him.

She turned the key in the lock, and entered his apartment.

He was sitting on couch, holding a sheet of paper in his hands. He didn't turn to look at her as she walked over to him. She took a seat next to him on couch. He tensed.

She didn't know how to take that.

He silently handed her the paper he was holding, and she took it even as a terrible sensation gnawed at her stomach lining. She looked to Harm for some clue as to what he was thinking, but his expression was unchanging. Mac focussed her attention on the piece of paper she was holding.

It was a letter from Jordan addressed to Harm, and apparently mailed before her death. Mac looked at Harm, shocked, but she couldn't see any reaction in him. She swallowed her misgivings, and forced her attention to the letter.

She felt an ache in her heart as she read Jordan's words, her telling Harm that she knew friendship would be all they ever had, and she'd cherish her time with him. Mac couldn't stop the tears from running down her face.

"Harm," She began softly, at a loss, but he didn't give her a chance to continue.

"Mac, I ..." He hesitated, the stress evident in his tone. "I can't."

She didn't say anything, and instead ran her fingers through his hair. She leaned her forehead against his temple, offering him comfort. He tensed even more, and then abruptly pulled away.

She swallowed her hurt, her fingers suspended in midair, not knowing what to do.

Mac dropped her hand back onto her lap.

"I can be here as a friend." She offered. "If that's what—"

"I need to be alone with this." He interrupted.

She opened her mouth to say something, but realized that he wouldn't budge; he'd closed himself off. It was something she understood all too well.

Mac couldn't help but worry. This was a huge blow to him. She knew he cared a lot about Jordan. And he had always been on such good terms with guilt.

She nodded slowly, and got up, wiping away the tears Jordan's letter had brought. Slowly, taking her time, she walked to the door, waiting for him to say something. Maybe tell her that he just needed the night, or that everything would be okay, just like he'd said at the admiral's house all that time ago.

But she'd reached the door and he hadn't said anything.

She turned around to face him, offering her support, giving him the space he needed, the space she was worried he wouldn't try to bridge again. "If you want to talk, I'm always here."

He didn't respond, not even a nod of his head. Mac stepped out of his apartment, her heart heavy.

Maybe tomorrow, she told herself as the door closed behind her with an ominous click. He needed to be alone, and she told herself she understood. It didn't hurt.

--

JAG HQ  
Wednesday  
1630 Local

She watched him move around the bullpen, everyone had kept their distance from him, walked on eggshells around him and been overly solicitous these past two days. She bet he would've been incredibly irritated by it all, except she didn't think he'd even noticed. He'd been lost in some deep thought since yesterday. And she hadn't once caught him looking in her direction.

Mac sighed, and returned her attention to packing away her things for the day.

She was almost done when she felt him enter her office. He came to stand next to her as she locked her briefcase, and leaned back against her desk, watching her. She didn't know what to do or how to look at him, was worried about what he'd say to her. He'd tell her he needed more time, more space...

His hand brushed a lock of her hair off her cheek with that same tenderness that had undone her all those months ago.

She looked up at him.

"Have dinner with me." The intensity in his expression held her captive, his words a demand as much as a plea.

She was apologetic. Sometimes their jobs had the worst timing. "I'd love to..."

"But?" Worry flickered in his eyes, impatience in the set of his jaw.

"The Woods case the admiral assigned me to consult on last week, the gunnery sergeant suspected of multiple rapes by the DC police, there's a lead on a witness, Woods' girlfriend's mother. I'm heading there now, meeting up with the lead detective on the case." She put a hand on his wrist. "I'm sorry, Harm. I don't know how late..."

"That's okay." He said in a way that implied it was anything but. He stood up and took a step away from her, causing her hand to drop to her side. "Some other time."

She nodded. She'd hoped he would offer to wait up. She considered asking him to, but didn't think she could bear another rejection from him.

But maybe he was as afraid to ask her as she had been last Monday night, as she still was after this past Monday night.

She steeled herself.

"Harm, I can come by after the interview or tomorrow for breakfast, before work, if you want to talk—"

"Nothing to talk about, I'm fine." Came his terse reply. She cursed under her breath. He had such an easy time sending her away, it seemed.

"Like Jordie said in that letter," Harm continued, his expression and words sardonic. "We were only meant to be friends. I didn't feel for her what she wanted."

"Harm, it's okay for you to grieve." She put a hand on his arm. "It's normal. Healthy."

"I know that." He said testily.

"If you want to talk—"

"I said I'm fine." His words clipped at her patience.

"You don't sound fine." She insisted. "Bottle this up, Harm, and it'll fester into another of your obsessions."

"This was a bad idea," He said, and she tried to ignore the snide undercurrent to his tone. He backed away from her, moving towards her office door.

Mac was affronted. Did he honestly think she wouldn't tell him upfront what he needed to hear? That was what she'd done when they were friends, and he hadn't liked it then. She wasn't going to stop doing it because the broad strokes of their relationship had changed.

But it never felt this terrible when he'd sent her away only as a friend, or tried to avoid the topic whatever it was. Damn it, she thought they were trying to cement something between them, something stronger than the incredible chemistry they shared. Sometimes she just felt like everything else was getting in the way. Maybe they would've been better as friends. At least it hurt less when he didn't listen to her then, when he shut her out.

"What's that supposed to mean, Harm?" She stood her ground. "You can't avoid this."

But he was already out the door, and he didn't bother answering her.

Damn it, Mac thought. So much for that.

--

Harm's Apartment  
Thursday  
2208 Local

Mac once again stood outside the threshold to Harm's apartment. She was tired. Exhausted. She'd tossed and turned last night, wondering what the hell to do about all of this. She finally decided on trying again, on explaining her actions after he'd tried to get her to talk about her father, her 

parents. She'd try to explain why she'd pulled away from him when he wanted her to open up. All she needed was enough courage.

It had taken her the entire day to find just some.

Harm had been like a bear with a sore head all day: very angry and very impatient. Luckily, most of the staff understood that his behaviour was due to Jordan's death. For the most part, she thought, it was true. He was taking out his anger on everyone else, including and maybe even especially her. But that was fine. She promised herself she'd try and be supportive.

By the end of the day, she'd convinced herself to face him, and talk this out. So she'd driven over to his apartment and here she was. Trying not to be a coward.

She knocked on his door. She couldn't hear him playing his guitar, although the lights in his place were on. It worried her. Playing his guitar was usually his way of sorting through his emotions, or holding them at bay until they receded. She had never been able to decide.

He opened the door, much to her relief, even if he didn't particularly look like he'd wanted to.

"Mac." He stepped to the side, and waited for her to enter before shutting the door.

She was about to ask him how he was doing, but luckily bit her tongue in time to stop herself. He obviously was hurting and angry. It would be a stupid question to ask.

Instead, she decided to jump right in.

"We have to break old habits," She said without preamble.

He didn't react, beyond a harsh flare that darkened his eyes. She thought it might be anger, probably because she'd been first to push him away. She hated that they kept count. She hurried to continue before he could interrupt her.

"It's hard, Harm." She confessed, trying to look him in the eye, but not doing a great job of it. "I've never had anyone to depend on. Only Uncle Matt, and only about being an alcoholic. I don't ... I don't think I know how to rely on someone else. And every time I'm forced to, I feel like I've failed."

"Mac." He said, a warm understanding transforming his face. He took a step towards her.

"Wait, Harm." She said, more to stop him from saying anything further, than to stop him from approaching her. "And you, you're the same. You don't want to depend on anyone either."

His impatience was back. She watched him harden in front of her.

"You're reading too much into this." His words were harsh. "It's just a bump in the road."

"It won't go away if we just ignore it." She insisted. "That's not how this works."

"And you know a lot about functional relationships." He shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

She stared at him, and ground her jaw in a weak attempt to maintain control. "Low blow, Rabb. At least I'm trying to make this work—"

"C'mon, Mac. Face it." He was wearing a careless anger that put her on her guard. "How can we make anything work if you run away every time things get tough."

"And you clam up like a shell in toxic water." She replied tersely.

"Don't throw this on me." He warned.

She turned to leave, before one of them said something they'd both regret.

"Fine, MacKenzie. Walk away. Go." He dismissed her with a curt wave of his hand. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

She stopped, one hand on the doorknob.

"That's just it, Harm." She turned to face him, hand still on the knob. "This is who I am. And you, you're the guy who cuts his losses when the emotional stakes get too high. So you don't put this on me either. We're definitely going halves on the blame."

She turned the doorknob and had one foot out the door when she stopped, deflated, defeated. She couldn't leave him like this. It wasn't why she came here. She was supposed to be supportive, even if she wasn't very good at it.

"I hate fighting with you," she said quietly.

He gave a mirthless laugh that cut right through her. "I never would've guessed."

"And that says a lot about us, doesn't it." She sighed, repeating his words. She leaned against the door. She hated leaving things like this ... She couldn't leave things like this...

"Harm..." She didn't know what to say.

"I think you've said enough, Mac." He said abruptly, and turned away from her. He took a seat on his couch.

Her eyes widened at the finality in his tone, and she realized that he was going to push her away. He was retreating even further, retreating as he'd been doing since Jordan's death. Panic clenched her gut.

"What does that mean? I think there's a lot that's left to say, that needs to be said." She just didn't know how to broach the subject.

"I think you should go, Mac." He wasn't looking at her, was staring instead at his hands, now clasped between his knees, with an unwavering intensity. "Go home."

"Harm," she took a step forward, as though that might keep him from saying the words.

"Maybe 'friends' is all we were ever meant to be, all we ever will be." He said, his voice distant.

It sounded suspiciously like the words in Jordan's letter. And all of a sudden, Mac was furious with him, that he could cast away what they had because he refused to deal with, with...

"Of course. Of course." She spat out angrily. She felt like such an idiot. She was so stupid for believing this with her would be different, that he could be different. "What did I expect, really? I couldn't ever be good enough for you. I couldn't ever be enough for you. No one could. You place the dead on too high a pedestal, give them all of yourself. The living can't compete, and there's no room left in your heart."

His head snapped up, shock painted across his face. Just as suddenly, it was replaced by anger, and she knew this was going to get ugly. His snide attacks were his greatest shield, and he was going to wield it full force. She braced herself, even though she knew that she could never adequately prepare for what was going to come; his words had always had the power to hurt her.

"You're one to talk." He stood up, jabbing his finger in her direction. "Your insecurities are the biggest obstacle between you and me. Why the hell do you feel the need to compete, anyways, unless you don't trust me?"

"It has never been a matter of trust." Her words were clipped and even. She was trying her damndest to remember that his accusations were stemming from his hurt. He didn't mean it...

"Like hell is hasn't. You're right. This here," He pointed from her to him and back, taking in their confrontational stances, "This says a lot about us. Go find yourself a guy you think you deserve. Then you can pretend to be happy when he treats you like shit, and stop giving me such a hard time."

Mac was too shocked to even school her reaction. Her jaw dropped. She couldn't move. Her feet were glued to the floor, even though that part of her that had kept her alive and relatively unscathed through the bulk of her life demanded that she run the hell out of here, away from him. She was appalled to feel the tears punch at her eyes.

She'd resign from the Marines and join the Army before she'd ever let him know how much his words hurt. To hell with Harmon Rabb. She straightened her spine, rigid with resolve, eyes dry. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of his apartment.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights – 17/23**

JAG HQ  
Monday  
1039 Local

Harm stood by Harriet's desk. He'd asked her to look up a phone number, and was waiting while she flipped through her rolodex. Truthfully, he just wanted to be in the bullpen when Mac walked back out of the break room.

It was still early in the day, but so far Mac had been doing a great job of ignoring him. Admittedly, he'd been mad as hell at her after she'd left his apartment. It had taken him all of Friday – luckily she'd been out of the office, dealing with that multiple rape case – and most of Saturday to tame his anger into something recognizable. Where the hell did she get off saying such things to him? About his father, and Dianne, and ... and everything that had driven him for the larger part of his life.

Something raw still seethed in his gut when he thought of it.

But that was hardly an excuse for what he'd said to her. It caused him no small degree of disgust to know those words had come out of his mouth. He wasn't ready to apologize, he didn't think, given what she'd said to him first. But they did need to hash this out. He just couldn't bear the thought of losing her. The look on her face when he'd said those words to her, the look in her eyes before she'd walked out. Something had broken between them, he knew, and ... and ... and he just needed to talk to her.

He needed to do something.

Finally, he saw her walk out of the break room, steaming cup of coffee in hand. She set a course for her office, not sparing him a glance.

He stood up from where he'd been leaning against Harriet's desk.

"Mac," He said quietly, not wanting to draw any attention, lest this get back to the admiral.

"Excuse me, Commander," Came her clipped, unforgiving reply as she walked past him. "I'm busy."

She headed right into her office, without having looked at him even once.

He watched as she buried herself in her work. A discreet movement by his side caught his attention, and he turned to find Harriet holding out a sheet of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Harriet."

"You're welcome, Sir." She replied. The slightly sympathetic, slightly worried look on her face was a bit much for him. He walked into his office, and sat down heavily in his chair.

He'd try again later. She probably just needed some time to thaw.

--

JAG HQ  
Monday  
1407 Local

She was walking across the bullpen carrying a load of files, and his eyes were following her as they'd been doing most of the day. She'd been doing a fantastic job of ignoring him all day.

He jumped out of his chair, and set a course to intercept.

"Let me help you with that," He offered, reaching for the files as she walked by him.

"No thank you, Commander." She navigated past him, leaving his arms hanging uselessly in the air. There was an unmistakable edge to her voice. "I wouldn't want to give you a hard time."

Something cold and steely gripped his chest at hearing those words.

He ignored it.

He'd go to her apartment tonight, and clear the air. He'd probably spend the night there after he got through to her, so he'd make sure to stop by the dry cleaners after picking up some dinner for them.

She had to know he didn't mean what he said. Harm stared after her as she disappeared around a corner. She had to know.

--

Harm's Apartment  
Monday  
2203 Local

He'd knocked on her door. There'd been no answer. And the cold steel had returned, coiling itself around his lungs, tightening. She was avoiding him, ignoring him. That was not how this was supposed to work. She wasn't usually the one doing the avoiding; she was the one who came knocking on his door. Her lights had been off, and it had been far too early for her to be asleep. Where on earth could she have been? Was she home now?

He eyed his phone, resting on his coffee table. He'd call and she wouldn't answer and the frigid band of steel would coil itself into a hard knot until he couldn't breathe.

As it was, every time he did take a breath all he smelled was her. On his cushions, his sheets, in his closet...

Harm took a long pull of his beer. Anything to get rid of that forbidding grip in his chest. But it didn't give him the release he was looking for. He took another long drink. And another and he kept at it, waiting for that feeling to hit. It didn't and the bottle was empty.

He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and took another cold one out of his fridge, ignoring the bottle of sparkling water – her favourite brand – sitting on the top shelf. He pulled off the cap from his beer before remembering the aged brandy he had in his cupboard. That would do it. He dug the brandy and a glass out of the cupboards, and returned to his couch.

He set the brandy and glass on the coffee table. He poured himself a finger of the amber liquid, already able to taste it on his tongue.

Harm was about to take a sip when a thought occurred. He headed to his bedroom and took his cigar box out from the back of his closet. He ignored her clothes that were hanging there, the light floral of her perfume and that deep, heady scent on her skin could never name. He focused instead on the gentle, sweet smell of fermented tobacco. Yes. This would definitely hit the spot. He removed one cigar and the lighter, and headed to his living room. He sat down on the couch, anticipation settling easy and loose under his skin.

Harm took out a deep breath and took one long, slow drink of his brandy. He let it settle, thick and ancient and comforting in his mouth, before swallowing. Oh, yes. Definitely hit the spot. He took another deep breath, this one contented. That's what he was looking for.

He leaned back against the couch, glass in hand, and took a sniff of his cigar.

And then he thought of Mac. How she'd shared that cigar with him around their campfire in the Appalachians after a day spent dodging armed poachers, a bullet in her leg and the blood of a man she'd killed on her hands. She'd proven that day as she had countless times since that she could take care of herself. And then she'd opened up about Eddie and the accident, and drying out at Red Rock with her Uncle Matt. He'd been amazed, certain then if he hadn't been before that he'd never met a woman quite like her before. Harm couldn't help his smile – she really was something else.

And he'd never told anyone else whom he'd taken up in Sarah for a casual day of flying – male or female – about his father and grandfather like that..

And the things he'd said to her Thursday night. That look in her eyes...

Harm felt an unfamiliar tightening behind his eyes, a sharp pinch that wouldn't let up. Christ. He would not cry. He would not cry over a woman.

He eyed the glass of brandy in his hand. Damn drink was making him sentimental. Too relaxed. What was he thinking, he should have gone to the gym. Or for a drive.

He downed the rest of the brandy, savouring how it warmed his throat, right down to his belly.

He'd had a flask of the stuff, that time he and Mac had gone flying. He hadn't thought of her alcoholism when he'd packed it, not really thinking, pocketing it by rote as he always did when he went up in Sarah on a cold day. He wondered what she'd thought of him then. Cutting work to take her flying, armed with cigars and a flask of brandy. Not even checking the fuel line properly.

He'd always been such a moron when it came to her; compensating for a fascination he couldn't understand – one that unsettled him, one that made him feel like the ground was uneven and tilting – by being overly cavalier and searching out distractions that would prove his disinterest. And royally screwing up.

The phone rang, interrupting his tortuous walk down hindsight.

He debated not picking it up, but he was sitting alone on his couch with an unlit cigar, an empty glass and a bottle of brandy, and he could again feel that irritating, pinching sensation at the back of his eyes.

He grabbed the phone.

"Rabb."

There was a pause.

"Harm, are you alright?" It was his mother. Her concern popped through the line, and he had to shut his eyes tight for a moment.

He hadn't found the sound of his mother's voice comforting since before his trip to Vietnam.

"No." He'd meant to say yes. He'd meant to change the subject.

"Darling, what happened?" He could hear her frown.

"It's nothing mom," He gave an empty laugh. "How are you doing? How's Frank?"

"Is it work?" She persisted, ignoring his question. "Mac?"

He let out a long, slow breath.

"It is Mac, isn't it? Is she alright? Is she hurt?"

"No, no, nothing like that." He paused, hesitant, and was about to end this line of inquiry, but his mouth got ahead of him. "We, uh, had a fight."

He blamed the brandy for loosening his tongue.

"Dear," The caution in his mother's tone amused Harm, despite everything. "That's normal."

Normal. His amusement was quick to fade. This sure as hell didn't feel normal.

"Normal fights are normal, and we've had a few of those. This is..." He dropped his head back heavily against the headrest, "God, Mom. I think I really screwed up."

"Harm—"

"Mom," He continued, gaining momentum in time with his indignation now that he had an outlet to vent it. "Her parents were really messed up; she doesn't give her trust easily. And her self-esteem…" He took a weary breath. "It's going to take a lot to fix this … if she even lets me close enough to try."

His mother didn't say anything, so Harm continued as another thought occurred.

"How are we supposed to have a chance at making this work if she always expects us to end up acting like her parents?" Exasperation was steadily creeping into his tone. "If she keeps waiting for me to hurt her, abandon her?"

That, he suddenly realized, was the heart of the matter. There was a silence on the other end, before his mother responded.

"I don't know, Harm."

"She doesn't even think about it, and she denies it, but it affects her." He leaned forward, closing his eyes. "And she refuses to talk about it. How the hell is this supposed to work?"

"You can't force her to talk about such things, Harm, to face them. She has to do it at her own pace."

"It's been almost 20 years, for god's sake. How long could it possibly take?"

"How long did it take you to come to terms with your father's disappearance?"

Harm stopped short at that. He thought of his meeting with Jenny Lake - the meeting he still hadn't told his mother all the details of. He grudgingly admitted that his mother had a point. There was that damn perception of hers. Just like Mac: saying exactly what he didn't want to hear, exactly when he didn't want to hear it.

"But dammit," He concluded none too eloquently.

"Harm, dear, patience isn't one of your strong suits when it comes to wanting things your way, but you're going to have to try if you really want this relationship with Mac to work." His mother's tone was soothing. He was reminded of all the heart-to-hearts they used to have, before his resentment towards her for marrying Frank obscured the bond they'd shared when his father disappeared. "These things don't come easy."

He thought he could be pretty damn patient when he needed to be. He poured himself another finger of brandy and downed it without a thought, taking comfort in the dull burn at the back of his throat, the warm flush under his skin.

"I didn't know it could be so complicated." He sighed, the smooth taste still lingering in his mouth. He debated refilling his glass, but decided to wait until he was off the phone with his mother before getting completely trashed on really expensive alcohol.

"It doesn't have to be, if you don't let it." She said cautiously, still trying to feel her way into this conversation, it seemed. "Harm, you told me it took a while for her to even open up to you."

"Yeah." He paused, remembering their first year as partners. "I've never felt this way about anyone, Mom."

"I'm sorry this is so difficult, darling."

He managed a laugh. "It's hardly your fault. I thought it would be easier."

"Because you love her?"

"Yeah."

"That's not how it works, darling."

"I'm starting to get that." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

"You'll figure it out." She assured him. Obviously she had much more faith than he did. "These things, Harm, once you get through to the other side, always make relationships stronger."

"What if we don't make it through?"

"You will." She spoke with such certainty.

He wasn't convinced. He didn't know what to do, and he was terrified of doing the wrong thing. And how was his mother such an expert on this?

As though reading his mind, his she spoke again.

"Harm, I know what I'm talking about."

How? He wondered silently, unsure if he it was his place to ask. He wondered if there was some history people were just never meant to know about their parents.

"You're wondering how I know." She continued.

"Well, yeah." He couldn't help his smile: he didn't think he was that transparent.

She laughed, again answering his unvoiced question. "The lawyer in you."

There was a short silence on the line, and he supposed she was waiting for him to ask her.

"So? How do you know?" He prodded.

The pause continued, and he wondered if maybe she hadn't been waiting for him to ask, but had been trying to bring herself to answer.

He was about to tell her to forget it, that she didn't need to share this with him, when she finally spoke.

"A man once explained it to me, when I asked him why he was being so patient with me and my son."

"Frank." The pieces clicked into place.

"Frank," She confirmed, a warm smile could be heard in her voice.

Harm mulled this over. It seemed to him he'd missed a lot growing up, because he was looking in another direction.

"He's a good man." Harm finally said. It didn't cost him much of anything to say this, not anymore. An image of a younger Jenny Lake sitting on a moonlit fantail flashed in his mind. He refused to think about it.

"So are you." Her voice was affectionate, and he knew she meant it. "Dear, do you want to tell me what happened?"

Harm paused to think, and wished for a moment that he hadn't drank so much of the brandy before and while talking to his mother. It was making it hard for him to remember what he didn't want to share, what he wanted to forget about if just for tonight. But a warm fuzz was coating his brain, and words were easy to come by.

"You remember Jordan?"

"Of course."

"Well, she was murdered by a patient's wife."

"Oh, dear!" His mother gasped, shocked. "I am so sorry. Are you alright?"

He nodded, and then realized she couldn't see him. "Yeah. I hadn't seen her since right after I switched designator's back to JAG. Mac tried to get me to talk about it, but I wasn't really, uh, forthcoming."

"Darling, you can't bottle these things up."

"Anyways," He wasn't ready to go there yet. "I didn't handle it too well. I just wanted to be left alone. Mac said that I place the dead on a pedestal. Make it hard for the living to compete. I reacted pretty badly to that. Lashed out at her."

"That doesn't sound like anything that can't be fixed."

"I said some pretty horrible things to her. Aimed for where it would really hurt." He couldn't tell his mother more without disappointing her beyond recognition, he thought. He couldn't bear two people, in addition to himself, thinking he was a total ass.

There was a silence before she answered. He thought he heard regret when she finally did. "Do you think she's right? About you making it hard for the living to compete?"

He shouldn't have said anything. Not after that phone call months ago, where he'd learned for the first time about his mother's doubts in marrying Frank. The doubts he was the sole catalyst for. He wondered at Frank's tolerance of him.

He sighed heavily, and decided to give her an honest answer. "I told her once that I didn't realize how much I loved Diane until she was gone. I almost threw away my life for Diane, and when she was alive the last thing I wanted was to saddle myself with a long-term committed relationship, let alone a wife. And look at the way I've treated Frank, Mom. "

"You love your father, Harm. You idolized him right from when you were just a little baby. That kind of bond persists. And you loved Diane, as much as you could at the time, in your own way."

He didn't know how to even begin processing that, what to say. He dropped his head in his hand, and tried not to think.

"Darling," His mother's soothing voice wafted through the line. "I want you to listen carefully. I thought that, was certain that your dad was it for me. And when he went missing, and the years passed, my heart could've been as good as dead." He heard the sadness in her voice, weighed down by a man who'd been the biggest factor in his life, without really physically being in it.

"Except I had you, you kept that part of me alive. And then the most wonderful thing happened," His mother's voice was suddenly lighter. He thought he heard a smile.

"I met Frank. It was like..." She paused, again a note of sadness creeping in. "It was like my heart started beating again. It was a long, slow process, though, Harm. You were young, you don't remember, but I resisted it for a long time, resisted him. But then I realized that I didn't want to put your life on hold because I couldn't come to terms with your father's disappearance. I didn't want you growing up looking to the horizon wondering when he would come back, waiting for him to come back. And for myself; I needed to stop doing that, too."

He lifted his head from its cradle in his hands, surprised. He'd done it anyways, he realized. Probably held on tighter to his dad because he thought his mom was letting him go.

"Harm, it was probably the most terrifying, bravest thing I've ever done, to let him go and try to live again. I've never loved anyone the way I love your father. With the full confidence of youth, the head over heels, carefree wonder that fades when life gets in the way. But you know what, Harm? I've never loved anyone the way I love Frank, either. With him, it's like catching sunshine in the palm of my hand."

Her words struck a chord. Most terrifying, bravest thing she'd ever done...

"So you're saying..."

"I'm saying, Harm, that you have to stop living for the regrets you make in hindsight: the past is something to learn by, not live in. I love you, darling, and no matter what, you know I'll do my best to support you—

He smiled at that tone of long-suffering patience she'd mastered.

"Or have no qualms in slapping me upside the head if you think I'm wrong." He cut in.

"That's my sworn duty," She teased, laughing. "I took an oath when you were born."

He chuckled, feeling better.

"Will you be okay?" She asked.

"Yeah." He didn't know how to bear ending this phone call and facing his dark, empty living room where all he could see was Mac.

"You want me to come up there?"

"No," He laughed; the idea of a grown man calling his mother to balm a broken heart. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Alright. Remember now," She reminded him sternly, "The good things in life have to be earned."

"You're starting to sound like a fortune cookie."

"Don't sass you mother."

He laughed. "You know, you're full of good advice."

"Took you long enough to realize." She replied.

Harm grinned. Mac and his mom: he never got the last word with either of them.

"Mac is one special girl." His mother said. "I must say I've never seen you value another person's opinion so highly."

"Caught me by surprise too." He gave his cockiest grin, knowing she could hear it in his voice.

"Dear, you are something." She laughed indulgently.

Harm grinned, but quickly sobered as he remembered the content of their conversation. He sighed.

"How am I going to fix this with Mac?" If even a month ago anyone had even suggested that he'd be looking to his mom for advice on dealing with women, let alone with Mac, he never would've believed it.

"Be honest with her, Harm. You both deserve it. And I suspect she'll be a lot more understanding than you give her credit for. I bet she's very familiar with how your mouth gets ahead of your brain."

Harm was surprised by his mother's accuracy.

"How..."

"Dear, I didn't know what I was going to do with you when I first introduced you to Frank. From then until you went to Annapolis, some of the things that came out of your mouth, I swear. You remember the talking to's Grandma Sarah used to give you."

Harm definitely remembered those; they still made him feel like he was a wayward thirteen year-old all over again. He felt like he ought to apologize, to his mom and Frank.

"I, uh," Except he'd never been really good at apologies.

She laughed with motherly indulgence. "Don't worry about it, darling, we learned it was just your way of dealing with the situation. We both love you."

They were way too easy on him, he decided. But he wasn't going to reject what they were offering, not now that he recognized what a gift it truly was.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You can thank me in person, when you come to visit."

He laughed at her predictability.

"Call me, Harm, for anything. Anytime."

"I will, Mom. Thanks." He hung up, and for the first time since that trip to Vietnam, he meant it.

--

Center Gym  
Monday  
2035 Local

Mac sat down on the bench in the locker room and pulled on her socks and shoes. She'd avoided him today, as she'd done all weekend. She knew it was a stupid, cowardly thing to do but she just couldn't face him. She needed time to put some distance between them. She was so angry at him, at herself for letting her guard down. And what did it get her?

_...find yourself a guy you think you deserve..._

Who the hell did he think he was anyways? Mac laced up her shoes, pulling them up tightly and securing a knot.

_...treats you like shit..._

She was not that person. Not anymore. And she sure as hell would not become that person. She'd come too damn far to have a man speak to her like that. To treat her like that...

Mac stood up, and realized she could barely walk. She'd tied the damn shoelaces too tight. She sat back down and started again.

_Stop giving me such a hard time._

Well, he didn't need to worry about that anymore. If she'd been such a huge burden on him, they might as well cut ties now, before either was too fully invested. She didn't need anyone's charity, or pity.

As Mac tried to apply a slightly more gentle touch to lacing up her shoes, a brave spurt of conscience reminded her that he'd been hurting when he'd said it. And she'd said something pretty cutting to him, too.

She ruthlessly quashed the spurt to nothingness.

Fighting fair – what had she been thinking? They never fought fair. They always fought to win. Even fairness succumbed to semantics in the face of that harsh truth.

Mac stood up, her feet once again receiving adequate blood flow. She heard the squeak of shoes against hardwood, and the thud of a basketball bouncing on the court next door. She took a deep breath as she eyed the basketball she'd checked out of the front counter. She was going to play ball, and she was going to play hard. And that inflated sphere of orange leather was going to be Harm's head.

--

Center Gym  
Monday  
2105 Local

Mac jumped, stretching her arm out to catch the ball as it rebounded off the rim. Her fingers just tipped the ball into her hand. She loved this. The feel of thick leather, smoothened through use, against her fingers. The fluidity of movement. The anger she could pound out on the ball Harm's head. The sound of the ball slicing through the net. The sweat. The ache.

God, this felt so good. She'd forgotten.

"Excuse me."

Mac turned to the sound of the voice, and saw a guy approaching her. She recognized him as one of the players involved in a game of pick-up on the other end of the court.

"Yes?" She asked, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Our seventh just showed up, so we're a man short." He nodded in direction of the group of men playing behind him. "Want to join us?"

She eyed the group he'd indicated. They all seemed to know their way around a court. Why the hell not: nothing to thrash out her frustrations like a physical sport against people bigger than her, and none likely to go easy on her. Just like she used to do all that time ago.

--

Mac's Apartment  
Monday  
2239 Local

Mac entered her apartment, a rewarding ache in her limbs. Jingo happily clambered to her for a proper greeting, and Mac crouched down, more than happy to oblige.

"You really are a good friend, Jingo." She told him, and was rewarded with a warm, slobbering kiss. She scratched him behind his ears, and he let her for a few moments before deciding to return to his spot beneath her dining table.

Mac stood up and felt each of her muscles protest the movement. She could feel the bruises forming, along with the satisfaction of having played a good game. Playing ball had been a really great idea. It'd been so long since she'd played that she'd worried she wouldn't be able to hold her own. But, after a few minutes of warming up her shooting arm and getting into the game, she'd kicked some serious ass. She headed to her bedroom, feeling very satisfied.

The seven had even offered her an open invitation to join them in the evenings; at least some of their group turned up every weeknight, enough for a game of pick-up. She'd been more than happy to accept.

Spending her weeknights playing pick-up at the gym was perfect. She needed to do something constructive, or she'd just do something stupid. And she'd promised herself after Dalton that she would not be driven to do stupid things because of any other human being, ever again. Let alone a man.

What she'd told Harm had been true, though she hadn't revealed the whole story. After Dalton, she'd promised herself to stay away from men. Stress in her professional life, she could handle with the best of them. When it came to her personal life, though, that kind of stress just brought back feelings better left forgotten. And she'd only ever had one way of dealing with those horrible kinds of feelings: drinking them into oblivion. Hardly healthy behaviour and definitely not something she even wanted to be tempted by.

But right now, she was doing fine. Playing ball had helped. She'd see if she could get Uncle Matt on the phone. Hopefully tomorrow. Hearing his voice always helped. Times like this, she really missed him.

Mac peeled off her work-out clothes and dumped them in the hamper. She took her pyjamas out of the drawer before heading to the bathroom for a shower. At least, that had been the plan, but then she'd seen Harm's t-shirt lying right next to her nightgowns in her drawer.

She scowled, suddenly livid, and yanked the t-shirt out of the drawer in a swift jerk, throwing it on the floor. She caught sight of some boxers and snatched those out too. Who did he think he was, saying such things to her? She pulled open the next drawer; it held a pair of his jeans and sweatpants. She grabbed them too and tossed it all on the floor by her bed. She was done with him. She stalked into the washroom, pulling her robe on as she went, and jerked the cabinet door open to grab his shaving kit and toothbrush. She threw them out of her bathroom and onto the pile by her bed. How dare he speak to her like that. She snatched the shower curtain open and grabbed his shampoo and soap bar, and hurled them onto the pile.

She stood in the middle of her bathroom, seething, hands on her hips, and did a quick survey for anything else that belonged to him. Her eyes fell on the toilet paper. He liked that triple-quilted wussy stuff so she'd bought his brand the last time she'd needed to resupply – so stupid of her, she was such an idiot. She took the toilet paper roll and threw it onto the pile.

She exited the bathroom, grabbed the pile from the foot of her bed and dumped it near her front door. Jingo roused himself from his spot under her dining table and trotted over to the heap of 

junk on her floor. He sniffed it. He wagged his tale. He nudged the bundle of garbage on her hardwood with his nose before looking at her with those big, watery eyes of his.

She ignored him.

She strode to her linen closet and pulled out the entire packet of toilet paper. She threw it onto the pile by the door.

What else?

She spied his running shoes by the door. And there was also his health food junk in her kitchen. She was pretty sure he'd violated her fridge by putting tofu in there.

She marched to the kitchen and took out everything either he or she had bought that only he would eat, or she that she only had because he was around – like celery. She also removed the bag of frozen French fries in her freezer he'd bought for her because he thought it was cute. Stupid, she was so unbelievably stupid to fall for that. She dumped it all into a garbage bag.

She opened her pantry cupboard for a quick look. There, she caught sight of the most recent cookie tin Gram had sent her. Something terrible and unwelcome gripped her heart.

No.

She refused to think about it. She couldn't look at it. She shut the cupboard door and regrouped.

She walked back into her living room with a garbage bag in hand, and eyed the pile on her floor. It was rather large. They'd been 'dating' – she scowled at the thought – for a few months and already so much of him was at her place. And she'd been ready to have a lot more of him around her apartment and her life. She was the biggest fool on the planet.

She was about to throw his clothes and toiletries and toilet paper into a garbage bag, intent on dumping it all down the garbage chute in her building, when she realized that she was acting like the stereotypical woman scorned. Well dammit, she would not give anyone the satisfaction.

So instead of throwing his things down the garbage chute – even though she knew it would be immensely gratifying – she put it all in a bag, and threw it into a corner of her closet. She slammed the closet door shut.

That felt damned good.

Either all that shit was going to Goodwill tomorrow, or she was dumping it outside his apartment door. It would all depend on her mood.

With a determined stride, Mac reset course for the bathroom, slipping out of her robe and grabbing her pyjamas on the way. She turned on the shower to a hot spray, stepped into her tub and for the first time since Harm had kicked her out of his apartment, Mac cried.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Early day tomorrow, so am posting this tonight. Originally, this was cut in two parts because it happens over two days. However, reading some of your reviews has me feeling terrible: you sound so distressed, which wasn't my intent. So I'm posting parts 18 and 19 together, which means the story now has 22 parts instead of 23. It also means that the resolution to this situation comes sooner.

Just remember the following happens over two days, so take a breath and maybe a one-minute pause to 'feel' Tuesday before moving on to Wednesday.

--

**Insights – 18/22**

JAG HQ  
Tuesday  
1308 Local

So far today, Mac had succeeded in avoiding Harm, or in making sure someone was always close enough to prevail on should they end up in the a room together. It had been a very successful way of halting any private conversations between them. She was still pissed off at him. She refused to talk to him.

She was pretty sure no one had really noticed any untoward behaviour from her or him, since no one suspected an out-of-office relationship between the two. And she didn't give a rat's ass if anyone did. People needed to mind their own damn business. At least she'd managed to keep this under the admiral's radar. It helped that he was too busy enjoying his own personal life with Dr. Walden to notice much else. Thank god for small mercies.

No one suspected anything.

Well, except maybe Bud and Harriet who kept exchanging worried glances when either of them were within seeing distance. So she was also avoiding Harriet because that stupid, uncomfortable, revealing girl talk was for the birds. She wasn't ready to talk about this. She couldn't even bring herself to call Uncle Matt. He'd know something was wrong just from hearing her voice, and he'd make her tell him everything. She couldn't bear to make him worry or upset him when he was locked away.

And she couldn't talk about this, couldn't say any of it out loud. That would imply things she wasn't ready for. She scowled, thinking of the garbage bag full of his junk that was still in her closet. She'd almost gagged this morning when she'd opened her closet door – stupid rotten day-old tofu was the worst smell she'd ever encountered. But she couldn't bring herself to throw away all his stuff either. That would also imply things she just couldn't face yet. So she'd thrown the perishables down the garbage chute in her building, and the rest she'd ... she'd think of something. Maybe dump it by his door on her way to the gym or something. Mac shook her head. Stop it, she ordered herself. Stop thinking about it.

A head popped around the door to Mac's office.

"Sarah MacKenzie?" It inquired.

"Yes?"

"I have a delivery," The head – belonging to a delivery guy, apparently – stepped around the door frame, bringing with it a set of arms holding a large basket full of Snickers bars.

A flurry of thoughts suddenly populated her brain. One in particular clambered its way to recognition: Harm.

Mac frowned. She was still mad as hell at him. If he thought he could ... No. She wasn't walking down this beaten path again. She wasn't even going to touch the basket.

"Can you sign for this right next to the X." The delivery guy handed her a clipboard.

She eyed the clipboard. Anger warred with reason, and anger won.

"Wrong Sarah. I have no 'h' at the end of my name."

The delivery guy looked at the nameplate on her desk and then back at her. "But that says-"

"I don't want it." She cut him off, and levelled a glare at him, daring him to challenge her.

"I have to deliver it, Ma'am." His tone was a unique mix of apology and incredulity.

"Then I'll sign this," She walked around her desk to the deliveryman, grabbed the clipboard from his limp grasp, and vehemently signed her name on the paper.

"There." She thrust the clipboard back at him. "And now you can dump that in the nearest trash can. Or take it home and enjoy it." She went back to her desk and sat down. "I will not take it."

"You signed it for it, Ma'am," he said carefully, cautious and amused in equal measure. "It's yours."

"And I'm giving it to you." Her calm was slipping with each passing second.

"I don't want it!" He exclaimed, startled.

"Neither do I, damnit!" She was angry. No, she was furious. If he thought he could win her over with a basketful of sweet gestures ... Mac glared at the man in front of her since that was less painful than thinking of Harm sending her a trove of her favourite chocolates.

He stared at her in silent shock. She fought the urge to shake him out of his stupor and settled on rolling her eyes.

"Fine. I'll keep it. But I am never going to recommend your services to anyone. Ever."

"That might make my job easier," He was smiling at her with good-humoured exasperation. Mac huffed. She bet he couldn't wait to go home and share this story with his wife over dinner. He probably had seven kids, too, who all sat in a row at the dining table. Like the bloody Partridge Family.

Mac caught his look of amusement and sighed. Maybe she was acting a bit off-centre. "You're right. Sorry. I shouldn't take this out on you," she squinted at his nametag, "Al."

Al waved a hand to dismiss her apology, "Don't worry about it." He turned to exit her office, "You have a nice day, now."

"Hey, Al."

Al turned around and looked inquiringly at her.

"You sure I can't talk you into taking this basket?"

Al grinned, shook his head and left.

Mac sighed. So much for that. She glared at the basket on her desk. She tapped her fingers against her blotter. She could not bear to look at that thing; she had to get rid of it.

She paged Tiner.

Moments later, he appeared in her doorway. "You called, Ma'am."

"Yes. I need to get rid of that basket."

Tiner looked at the basket in confusion. "What would you like me to do with it?"

"I couldn't care less." She ground out. Would no one cooperate with her today? For god's sake.

Tiner gave her a quick glance before stepping into her office and taking the basket.

"Thanks, Tiner. Oh, wait," Mac quickly got up and pulled the card out of the basket. No need to give fresh fodder to the rumour mill. "Alright. Now you can go. Thanks."

She stuffed the card in her bottom desk drawer, under stray sheets of paper she'd been meaning to throw out since she started at JAG. Mac shut the drawer shut with more force than necessary and set her mind to her work.

A couple of hours later Mac looked up from the open case file in front of her. She needed coffee. Strong coffee. Now.

She got up and headed to the break room. Just as she entered, an object caught her eye. There, on the table was the basket. It had been unwrapped and some serious inroads had been made into its contents. About half the chocolate bars were gone. Mac swore under her breath. Stupid basket. It was all her fault anyways. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She should have thrown it out her window, right through the sunroof of Harm's car.

Enough. Harden your heart, MacKenzie.

She caught Harm crossing the bullpen. She scowled at him, though he wasn't looking in her direction. Mac shook her head. Enough. She had work to do. She poured herself a cup of coffee and headed back to her office, not sparing another glance at the damn basket.

By the time Mac made it back to her office door, her anger had dissipated somewhat and was replaced by something much worse. This weekend she'd been really pissed off. And just now with the basket she'd been pissed off. Her anger had served as a shield but now anger was ebbing and all she had was this massive, gaping, empty, dark chasm, this hole right in the middle of her chest.

It hurt.

Mac entered her office and took a seat behind the desk. She stared at the files in front of her, not seeing them.

What had she been thinking?

She was such an idiot. A fool. She knew better. And he'd even taken her to his grandmother's. His grandmother who sent her boxes of cookies by post. Mac shut her eyes. She refused to think about it.

She knew better than to let herself get so deeply involved with someone, anyone. People had such an easy time casting each other aside. She was stupid to think she could invest her all into building a life with someone, when lives crumbled apart as easily as some of those cookies in Gram's packages.

She just wasn't cut out for this kind of thing. It wasn't for her.

Even though he'd told her that he'd never felt for anyone what he felt for her. Even though he'd said, if only once, that they'd be fine no matter what.

What was wrong with her, that she let it go so far. That she allowed it hurt so much.

She swivelled her chair so she could look out the window and attempted gather the tattered remnants of her emotions without an audience.

This was not easy.

She frowned. Suck it up. Since when was anything in life easy?

Mac turned her chair back to face the desk, opened the file lying on top of the monstrously disheartening pile of paperwork on the corner of her desk, and picked up a pen.

To work, Marine.

She was about to put her mind to the file and her pen to paper, when she caught the sunlight glinting off something on her desk. She looked up, and there right in front of her desk lamp, was a Snickers bar. Mac stared at it.

Dammit. Damn him.

Mac forced herself to focus on the file in front of her. Three minutes later, she shut her eyes in frustration. She couldn't concentrate, not with the sunlight glinting off that damn chocolate bar. Mac gave up. She took the next file folder in the pile, and deposited on top of the Snickers bar.

Out of sight; out of mind.

--

JAG HQ  
Tuesday  
1603 Local

Harm watched as Mac headed towards the admiral's office. Quickly, he made his way to her office and stuck his head in. He was gratified to note that the chocolate bar wasn't there anymore. So she did eat it. The way to that woman's heart - or at least the way through her stubborn skull – was definitely through her stomach. He should've known from the way she'd gone on about the food Gram had sent home with her following their weekend visit.

He was about to return to his office to try and figure out a way to approach her in person, when he noted that a folder on Mac's desk was sitting askew right at the spot he'd left the chocolate bar. With a quick glance towards the admiral's office to make sure she wasn't on her way back yet, he entered Mac's office and looked under the folder.

There lay the untouched candy bar.

Harm frowned, and then scowled. C'mon, Mac. He just wanted an inch, an in to get them talking. He consoled himself with the reminder that it had only been one day. And three days before that...

He shook his head, refusing to entertain such negative thoughts. She'd crack eventually. Even if she had categorically rejected his Snickers basket, there was no way she would last very long with a chocolate bar within arm's reach. No way she'd last much longer.

She had to give him another chance, because he would not allow for any other outcome.

--

--

Center Gym  
Wednesday  
1945 Local

Harm laced up his running shoes, and prayed to God he knew what he was doing. He'd given her some space last night, hoping she'd bend a bit in her fierce plan to ignore him. That obviously hadn't worked. She was still ignoring him and the chocolates, but that was fine. He knew she worked out at this gym, and he figured she was probably lifting ludicrously heavy weights as a means to deal with her frustrations and anger. He'd learned very early on that physical exercise was a major stress reliever for her. So he'd bought a visitor's pass at her gym, in the hopes of running into her.

His plan was either ingenious or just plain crazy. He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance she'd drop a 50lb weight on his foot. He glanced down at his sneakered feet.

No guts, no glory.

Harm stood up, took a fortifying breath and headed out of the locker rooms, towards the weight room. He'd start there and work his way through the building.

On his way to the weight room, he heard the familiar squeaking of shoes on hardwood. Harm stopped walking, and looked in the direction of the sound. Her gym had a basketball court, he realized with no small degree of envy. If he'd known, he would've switched membership ages ago.

He glanced through the glass windows to catch sight of the game, and he felt her right before he saw her. There was Mac, playing with a group of men, all of whom were all at least twice her size, and about half of whom were a head taller than her.

He had no idea she played ball.

He watched, fascinated as she passed the ball to her teammate in the corner of the key, then executed a pick-and-roll for a quick pass and an easy two.

She really did know her game.

He counted a total of seven players, including her. An idea formed. No guts, no glory.

Harm pushed open the doors to the court.

"Hey," He asked the player nearest him. "Mind if I join?"

"Sure," He shrugged, taking a swig of water from his bottle. "Even things up."

Harm grinned, trying to hide his nerves, "Great."

It was then that Mac caught sight of him. She visibly faltered for a moment, before drawing herself in and scowling at him.

He couldn't help himself – knew it would only increase her anger – but he couldn't stop his grin from turning genuine at the fire in her eyes. This was the first time since Thursday night that she'd even looked at him; he'd gladly take it.

He was put on the same team as Mac. At first, he regretted it, since he sensed he would've very much enjoyed playing some tight defence on her – it was something else to watch her play, the decisiveness in her steps, the grace in her movements, her quick reflexes, that enthralling fire in her eyes...

However, about twenty minutes into their game, he was glad he was on her side. Her passes, whenever they were directed at him, came with enough force to cut his breath short, and were just this side of too close to his face. She would've probably done him some serious damage if they were on opposing teams.

One thing she didn't do throughout their almost hour long game, though, was talk to him. She ignored him even during water breaks, chatting instead with the other players. It didn't seem that she knew them too well, so Harm figured she hadn't been playing here for that long. He drank his water, watching her from the corner of his eye as she wiped the sweat from her brow and talked smack with a couple of guys from the other team. He hid his smile, realizing that this was as close to happy that he'd felt since last Monday, when Mac had gone for that run without him.

It was also the first time since he'd sent Mac away from his apartment that he felt things would work out. He'd get through that stubborn, protective shield of hers. He just knew it.

Once their game was over, and the other men had packed away their things and said their goodbyes – with an open invitation for Harm to join them in future – Harm hung back, waiting for Mac. The game had worn her out, and he was sure that would make it easier to talk to her without getting rejected too brutally.

She was slowly loosening the laces on her shoes, and he could tell by how deliberate her movements were that she was trying very hard to ignore his presence. He eyed her cautiously as he formulated a game plan.

"You're really good." There. That was neutral, yet positive.

"Thanks." She gave him an uncertain glance.

"Where did you learn to play?" He sat down next to her on the bench. He finished off the rest of his water as he waited for her answer, anything to keep his hands busy or he'd just give in to his overwhelming need to touch her. To trail his fingers along the soft curve of her cheek, to kiss the inviting slope of her neck still glistening with sweat.

"Eddie" She said finally, her tone controlled. He noticed that she was now tightening her shoe laces, and retying them. "It was his favourite sport. We skipped homeroom in the mornings to play pick-up in the park. We also skipped study hall in the afternoons to go drinking." The hard sarcasm in her voice was a clear challenge.

He knew she was trying to throw him off with that last comment, hoping that he'd change the subject or make some joke because he wouldn't want to push her on this. Or maybe she thought he wasn't comfortable in dealing with this side of her. He recognized it for the defensive mechanism it was. Not this time, MacKenzie.

"He was a good friend." Harm replied, proud of how he was navigating his way through this minefield.

"One of the best I've had, for all the—" She stopped suddenly. She shook her head slightly as though catching herself from making a slip.

He tried not to look like he was hanging on her every word. He was almost there, so close to lowering her defences.

She stood up, her tone now more clipped. "Taught me to hold my own. Not easy when you are lighter and less built than your opponents." She began towelling her arms, and added as an afterthought, "And sweat a whole hell of a lot less."

"Sweat?" He repeated, amused, and stood up with her. He hoped it was enough to keep the conversation going. Anything to keep her talking to him.

"Yes." She gave him a pointed look, warming to the subject. "Your half of the species really sweat. A lot. It's disgusting."

"I thought Marines were all about sweat." He tried not to grin too obviously; she was talking to him and, without even realizing it, falling into the natural rhythm they'd had since early on in their partnership. In the face of that kind of history, any bad blood had seemingly fallen by the wayside. He was ready to celebrate.

"It's one thing to appreciate the sweat, blood and tears required of any task worth the doing." She said in that challenging tone she used when he teased her. "It's another altogether to have to come in close, direct contact with sleeveless or, god forbid, shirtless men who are sweating profusely while trying to pass by you for a lay-up." She actually pointed at the beads of sweat still dripping down his forehead and temples.

He laughed at the look of disgust on her face. "So you think that's unappealing."

"To put it mildly," She scoffed as she looked at her bare arms. "I'm wearing a long sleeved tee next time."

He couldn't help himself, at being so near her, like everything was okay. He wrapped his arms around her, making sure his sleeveless, sweaty arms were in direct contact with her sleeveless, not-so-sweaty arms, and then rubbed his hair against the side of her face.

She was too shocked to move at first, but then she squirmed in protest – he thought he even heard a laugh – and tried valiantly to pull away from him. He would have none of it.

"Ew. Harm, let go! That is disgusting! I mean it..." She put up an admirable, though ineffective struggle.

He laughed at the expression on her face. She looked adorable. Beautiful. Irresistible. He couldn't help himself. He ducked his head and kissed her.

She stilled as soon as his lips came in contact with hers, and didn't respond to his touch.

He pulled back reluctantly, not really willing to apologize, but pretty sure he'd have to.

"Mac…" He didn't know how to tell her.

She pushed herself out of his embrace, took a step back. His arms fell to his side. He stared at the look of confusion and hurt and … was that resentment on her face? Or regret? He couldn't tell.

"Mac…" He tried again.

She shook her head, and then turned away from him, unmoving. He stared at the smooth expanse of her back where her t-shirt was clinging to her, at the straight line of her shoulders. He sighed, then turned on his heel and left the gym, grabbing his empty bottle of water as he went.

He needed to fix this. He would fix this.

--

Center Gym  
Wednesday  
2128 Local

He passed the court on his way from the locker room to the front entrance of the gym. He heard the echo of the ball slamming against backboard and rim.

He stopped at the doors to the court and saw Mac still playing, her movements angry and focused. She must be exhausted, was his first thought. She must be exhausting herself, was his second.

He glanced at the vending machine by the doors and decided to take a chance. He dug into his pockets and found enough change for a couple of bottles of water. Peace offerings in hand, he entered the gym.

"You've been at it for a while," He called to her. "Here's some water."

He walked to the edge of the key and offered her a bottle.

She stopped, turned and levelled a glare at him. He was both taken aback and embarrassed by the hurt in her eyes, but he was adamant on holding his ground. His arm stayed outstretched, holding the bottle towards her, until she finally relented and took it from him.

"Thanks for the water." She took a swig, watching him with a wariness that cut through him.

He gave her a tentative smile, which she barely returned with a reserved, insincere one of her own.

"How about we play some one-on-one?" He tried. "You can practice your lay-ups. I need to work on my shots outside the paint."

"I don't think so, Harm."

His smile faded, worry flitted in his gaze. "Mac…"

"I have to go." She said suddenly, and walked around him to leave the court.

He caught hold of her wrist before she could get away. She stilled as he held her, but didn't turn to face him.

"Mac…"

"I can't, Harm." She took a breath that failed to lock out the hurt from her voice. "I can't just turn it on and off. I need time before I can just be your friend again. I … I think we both do."

He let go of her wrist and watched as she walked out of the gym. Thing was, he didn't want her to just be his friend. If only she would listen to him instead of retreating into a stony silence or leaving the room whenever he entered it. If only she was ready to forgive him.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Thanks for your reviews and comments, keeps the muse healthy and the heart happy.

**--**

**Insights – 19/22**

Mac's Apartment  
Wednesday  
2238 Local

Harm revised his second game plan of the night before delivering a brusque knock to Mac's door. He waited, hoping she'd answer all dressed up in one of those long-sleeved pyjamas of hers. He'd never thought he was the kind to find a fully-covered woman so appealing. He remembered how often he'd come to her at all odd hours for advice or just an ear. He hadn't ever before been this nervous or worried when he did it.

The door opened to reveal a frowning, pyjama-clad Mac. He gave himself a breath just to look at her.

"Can I, uh, come in?" He wished he didn't have to ask.

She considered him for a moment, and he could sense that she was going to refuse.

"I need to talk to you." He said quickly, before she could turn him away.

"Harm…" She warned. He didn't let her complete her sentence.

"I, ah … Actually, I'm in some trouble and need a good lawyer."

Her wary frown was instantly replaced with concern. She opened her door fully and motioned him in.

"What happened? It's just been an hour since the gym … Do we need to call the admiral? Tell me you aren't a fugitive…" She rattled off as she moved towards her side table and picked up a legal pad and some pens.

He entered her apartment and shut the door behind him, feeling just slightly like a heel for using her worry for him to get a foot in her door. He'd just have to add an apology for fibbing to her to the list. He took his time greeting Jingo, who'd clambered his way over. He'd missed the mutt.

She sat down on her couch, legal pad and pen in hand and looked up at him expectantly. "Alright. Start from the beginning."

He watched her apprehensively and tried to find the right words. Or at least not the completely wrong words.

He stood up, and walked to stand in front of her coffee table. Maybe some distance would keep her guard down. Jingo must've sensed Mac's worry, because he settled himself by her feet.

"I had made a promise, an informal contract based on mutual trust with someone." Harm began, watching her for any kind of reaction. "I faced a slight setback after this informal contract was agreed upon by both parties, making me temporarily balk on my obligations. The other party misinterpreted my actions, and assumed I was unilaterally breaking the agreement. My actions weren't in any way related to any doubts about the contract, nor were they due to a lack of faith on my part in the other party. In fact, my actions were neither substantiated nor even legitimate. The full weight of responsibility lies with me." He hesitated. "I screwed up."

She listened to him, confusion evident in the tiny crease in her brow. Probably wondering why he needed a lawyer for this.

"If it was an informal agreement—"

"It might as well have been a fully notarized formal contract, Mac." He said quickly, with the full weight of sincerity. "I meant it. Completely and utterly. But I still screwed up, and I need your help fixing this. I want to renegotiate, this time with the option to make this into a permanent agreement, recognized by both parties."

"Did you offer?" She was still confused, and trying to understand him.

He nodded.

"How did the other party react?"

"She's not really talking to me. She can't forgive me. She wants nothing to do with me."

Mac froze as his meaning sunk in. Suddenly her confusion and momentary surprise were replaced by anger. She stood up abruptly. Jingo raised his head, mildly on alert.

"Harm. Stop it."

He took a step towards her, but she moved behind the couch, putting a physical barrier between them. Jingo looked from Harm to Mac in confusion.

"No, Harm." She put a hand up to halt his movements. "I am not going to be strung around by you, while you go hot and cold."

"Mac," He took another step towards her. "Please—"

"Harm!" She warned, with a hint of alarm. A low growl sounded from Jingo's throat, but he directed his threat at her front door, obviously not thinking of Harm as posing any threat.

"I made a mistake, Mac. I didn't mean any of it. It was stupid, there was no reason. You just, I can't … I mean …" He trailed off, at a loss.

"You can go now." She crossed her arms tightly in front of her.

"Mac. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just … I didn't know how to react. I mean, things were moving so fast, and so well. But I felt like you weren't letting me in, like you were keeping me at arm's length … and then what happened with Jordan..." He floundered as her anger was replaced by disappointment.

"It's no excuse, Mac." He said, feeling wholly inadequate in the face of her hurt.

Jingo looked from Harm to Mac, noticing the shift in mood. He gave a grunt and retired to the bedroom, probably realizing that Mac wasn't in any danger.

She sighed heavily, her eyes following Jingo. Harm tried to find something to say, anything, but he didn't know how to convince her.

"Look, I understand here," She tapped the side of her head, glancing at him. She then put a hand over her heart. "It's here that I'm having some trouble. I just need time to get over this."

"I'm sorry, Mac," He said plainly. "For what I said, did. For hurting you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, something undecipherable flashed in her eyes. Her anger crashed into the walls, engulfed the room. "Don't apologize!"

Harm was caught off guard by the strength of her response, until he realized what she was thinking.

"It's not a sign of weakness," He cut in abruptly, getting increasingly upset at her automatic defensiveness, "It's not a sign of weakness to accept responsibility when you've screwed up, and it's anything but weak to forgive someone for screwing up. You know that, Mac. You always take responsibility for your actions – hell; you take responsibility even when it's not yours for the taking."

"You want to know what I know, Harm? I'll tell you what I know." He could see her rage overpower her reason. He wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, he knew what she was about to say would be the plain truth, no holds barred. He steeled himself.

"I know that saying sorry doesn't mean not doing it again." She spat out. "I know that forgiving means leaving yourself wide open for another round of blows. And I know that this cycle repeats itself over and over until someone leaves and someone gets hurt and someone altogether else gets caught in the crossfire! That's what I know about apologies!" She flung her words at him, their ferocity near overwhelming. "So you can keep yours – I don't want it!"

"This is about your parents." His anger was taking on a life of its own at her almost instinctual retreat into old hurts. God dammit, when would she stop carrying her past around like a shield.

The glint in her eyes hardened with fury, wavered with regret.

"This is about me being an idiot when it comes to you."

His momentum deflated at her admission. "It works both ways, Mac."

She kept staring at him, angry and doubting.

"It does," He persisted. "Please. I didn't do right by you, Sarah..." He trailed off; he would not beg.

She remained silent. He thought, though, that he might be making some progress; after all, he was still in her apartment. He remembered how categorically she'd dropped Dalton, refused to speak to him after he'd hurt her, and how she'd erased Chris Ragle from her memory. He remembered how she'd resisted visiting her dying father. Had she ever given a man in her life a second chance?

"I …"

"I'm not asking anything else of you." He repeated, insistent.

She heaved a weighty sigh. "Maybe ... maybe you were right. Maybe we were better off as friends –"

"You don't believe that, Mac!" He raised his voice, exasperated by her obstinacy. "I can't just get over this, move on, any more than you can. Be honest."

"I'm really good at learning how to move on." She insisted, the stubbornness in her tone sharp as a slap. "I've made a life out of getting over … things."

"You don't move on, Mac. You cut ties." How could he forget those horrible months when he was flying, when he didn't hear any word from her.

She didn't answer, remained absolutely still. He couldn't read the expression on her face.

"Just one more chance, Mac, that's all. One chance." Please, he thought. It was all he'd need. Please. He didn't have it in him to beg her. As it was, this was more than he'd done for any other woman. It was so alien.

"It would never work, Harm, if you did all the lifting and I did all the doubting."

He didn't understand what she was trying to say. He was afraid to ask. The conflicted look in her eyes cut him to the quick.

She bowed her head, and even though he could see her standing right in front of him, she seemed to be fading, away from him. He took the chance to cautiously walk around the couch, and stopped in front of her. With infinite care, he wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly. He would not let her go. She was stiff and unyielding, resisting his embrace yet not moving out of it. He nuzzled into her hair, savouring the way he was holding her, how she felt against him.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, and his heart clenched, not knowing where this was going. He tightened his grip around her.

"I promise I'll try harder," She said, thawing ever so slightly in his arms. He felt her intake of breath as he held her, and her slow exhale. "I'll try harder to trust you, to trust ... this."

"Mac." He couldn't find his breath. His relief knew no words, knew only how difficult it was for her to offer apologies, how thankful he was that she was offering him this part of her. "I'm sorry." He buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Thank you." He took his fill of the heady scent of her skin and thought maybe now he had a name for it. "I love you, Mac," He whispered into her ear, "I promise I'll never leave you."

"You can't promise that." She mumbled into his hair, her touch still hesitant.

"I can, and I do." He pulled back to look at her. He brushed her hair away from her face, and took hold of her hand, placing it over his heart. "Here," He vowed. "I love you, Mac. Always. Don't ever doubt it."

She looked up at him, studying him carefully. He could still see the uncertainty. He could also see her resolve. She nodded once and rested her forehead just above his heart.

"Me, too," She mumbled, her voice thick. "Always."

He held her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

**Insights – 20/22**

Mac's Apartment  
Thursday  
0004 Local

Her body fit against his just as it belonged. They were simply sitting on the couch, reconnecting after a separation that had cost him more than he thought he possessed. He remembered the conversation they'd had about make-up sex right after her first day back at JAG, when they'd had their disagreement over Renée and Brumby. He kissed the top of her head, savouring her nearness, and decided this had its merits, too.

He hadn't thought it possible, but it seemed that after what they'd just been through his feelings for her had strengthened, had acquired a depth that made him want to dive in deep knowing he wouldn't touch bottom. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

Maybe it came from this new understanding he had of her, and from the reinforced sturdiness of her faith in him, in them. Or at least her promise of it, he amended.

He thought she'd fallen asleep when she suddenly shifted in his arms, and angled her head from its spot on his shoulder.

"What I said to you," She said, looking him in the eye. "It wasn't fair."

He frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about ... Him, he realized. She was talking about him and his placing the dead on a pedestal.

"It was the truth." He replied without hesitation.

"It wasn't fair," She insisted. "The truth is – and I know this – the truth is that your life is all about looking for closure. And mine is continually open-ended. You demand answers, I'm fine living with questions." She sighed, and moved out of his embrace, turning to lean back on the couch.

"I don't know where my mother is, and when I allow myself to think about it, I find that I don't care." She could've been commenting on the weather, the way she said it. "I don't want to care. I don't want to know." She turned her head to look at him. "Harm, I'd go anywhere with you to help you find your answers. But sometimes I just don't get you."

She'd said it so casually, like it was a given that he meant that much to her, that he was worth such a pledge. His heart tripped at hearing it. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, profess his love for her, but she'd needed a distance between them just to make this confession. So he didn't.

"There's a difference, Mac. Your mom chose to leave," He turned to face her, allowing himself to trail a finger along her arm. "My dad chose duty."

She shook her head. "No excuse. You would've hunted her down. Found her." She turned her body to face him squarely. "Wouldn't you?"

He scoffed. "Mac. I barely spoke to my mom after I came back from Vietnam. I was barely civil once she married Frank. Nothing more, nothing less until after my ramp strike. Then I warmed up some."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

He gave a rueful chuckle, not accustomed to saying so much on the topic. No guts, no glory. He forged ahead. "And I warmed up some more after you came back from Germany. And then during this, um..." He didn't want to say separation. It sounded so terrible. "Well, what happened."

"I ... What?" She was stunned. She sat straighter to look at him.

He nodded. "Even I can't deny ..." He trailed off, finding it suddenly difficult to continue.

"Deny what?" She laid a hand on his arm, her fingers rubbing back and forth, soothing, fortifying.

"You were right, Mac." He admitted.

She frowned, still not following.

"What you said, about having no room in my ..." He cleared his throat, feeling conscious of exposing himself like this. "In me."

"I ... I don't know what to say, Harm." He didn't think he'd ever seen her at a loss for words. He was almost able to smile.

"It's good to know I can still make you speechless." His attempt to hide his awkwardness fell flat.

She just kept looking at him, an intent expression on her face.

"You're not usually this..." She searched for a word. "Open."

He grinned, and lifted his hand for her to see. It was trembling lightly. "And nervous as hell about it."

She grabbed his hand, laughing, and placed a kiss on his knuckles.

"Thank you." She was completely serious, all traces of laughter gone.

"Thank you, Mac." He studied her face by the lamp light. He didn't know what he would've done if she'd turned him away. "You ... you're my life, you know."

She abruptly pulled him in for a deep kiss that made him forget all the romantic declarations he was ready to make.

"Harm," she whispered fiercely against his lips. It was just his name, but in the way she said it he understood what she couldn't find the words for. "Harm."

He returned her embrace, holding her tightly, kissing her with everything he was. He turned them so that they were stretched out on the couch. This had its merits too, he decided, as he reached for the agonizingly tempting buttons on her pyjama top, and felt her hands on his belt. God, how he'd missed her.

--

They lay once again with his arms around her, this time in her bed, without the clothes. She was sleeping soundly, her breathing even. Harm thought this might be the first time he'd felt a relief so strong, he couldn't even smile. He was too busy trying to tame the well of emotion frothing deep within him.

He took a long, calming breath, and slowly slid out of bed. He gave up trying to find his boxers when he realized they were probably somewhere under the bed sheets. He opened her dresser drawer, but found that the spot his boxers usually occupied was empty. He glanced at her as she slept, wondering where she'd put them or – god, he hoped not – if she'd thrown them out. She had been really upset with him. It had been too damn thin for comfort, the razor's edge he'd walked on. He stood a moment longer, eyes fixed on her gently slumbering form.

They were here now, that's what mattered. As long as they found their way to each other, as long as he didn't lose her, everything would be fine. He'd make sure of it.

He debated on what to do, not quite comfortable with doing his next task naked. Luckily, he spotted his boxers on the floor. He slipped them on and walked to her living room, cell phone in hand.

He dialled his mother's number, and waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom."

"Harm! Dear, I've been thinking of you. How are you?" The meaning behind her question was unmistakable. He grinned.

"I'm fine." He replied, and then added, "We're fine. I just called to, uh, let you know."

His awkwardness fled at the distinct sense of her relief that traveled across the miles of distance.

"Oh, darling, I am so happy to hear that. I knew you'd be just fine." Her tone held a confidence Harm thought only mothers could project.

"Thanks, Mom. For everything."

"You can repay me by finally bringing Mac down here for a visit." She replied without pause for thought.

He laughed at her bluntness. "I'll talk to her about it." This time he meant it without reserve.

"Good. Call me when you get time off, so I have the dates. Now dear, I'd love to talk more about this with you, but Frank and I just came back from one of those dreadful fundraising dinners and I'm exhausted."

"No problem. I'll let you go." To be honest, he wanted to get back into bed with Mac. He'd spare his mother the details.

"Take care of you, Harm, and of that lovely young girl."

"Yes, ma'am." He couldn't help but tease her, adding, "That young girl is safe with me. I won't let her miss curfew."

He heard his mother's soft laughter.

"Good night, darling."

"Bye, Mom." He hung up the phone, and returned to bed, to Mac.

--

Mac woke up suddenly, the uncanny feeling of discomfort that had been waking her up since she was a kid once again manifesting itself. She knew it sometimes stemmed from nervous energy, and at least this time she knew the cause of it. She glanced at Harm, who was sound asleep next to her.

She turned in bed to face him, knowing that if sleep did return to her tonight, it would be a while in coming. Her brain was too wired, even though her body could probably use some down time. She watched him by moonlight as he slept, his arm holding her close. She put her hand on his chest, over his heart and could feel its steady beat under her fingertips. She studied his face, his features relaxed as he slept.

He'd promised her that he'd never leave her.

She knew it was the kind of promise that could only be broken, never kept. She knew how the world worked; they both did. Then again, he was very good at keeping ghosts alive, at memorializing the dead until they stood by his elbow, whispered into his ear. She wished she had his faith.

She thought of her parents. Of her mother who had left, and then reappeared only to disappear again. Of her father, whom she'd left, but who'd kept her in his wallet, between food stamps and old receipts. It had offered her an unexpected glimpse into what her father was. Maybe he was a mean drunk, too. She'd known his kindness, which had only appeared under the umbrella of sobriety. Just as she'd known her mother's caring warmth, which had slowly faded under toll of abuse.

What had her parents seen in each other that led them to commit their lives to the other? And what had changed? Maybe their marriage was something like hers and Chris's. She knew that not all marriages were invested with the sanctity of the wedding ceremony, most probably weren't ... And why was she thinking about marriage. Maybe Harm was right. Maybe she needed to stop thinking about her parents. Start fresh, clean slate. This was her life, not theirs … right?

Her eyes traced a path along Harm's face. She would be content with whatever he offered her, whatever he could give. He was a man of his word, she knew, she could trust that. And she knew no one had ever cared for her in the way he did. He'd shared a part of himself with her tonight. It was something she'd never received from him before, to a level she'd never experienced ... She loved him in a way that made her feel strong, a way that made her feel helpless.

Her gaze fell to her hand, where it lay on his chest. She focused on his heartbeat, a rhythmic thump against the pads of her fingers.

He was everything she was never brave enough to wish for.

She closed her eyes and timed the beats of his heart with her internal clock, hoping it would help her fall asleep until daylight broke. Insecurities were only for the night, and she would fight these ones with all she was worth.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Sorry for the lapse in posts! I won't bore you with the why. Here's the next part.

--

**Insights – 21/22**

Mac's Apartment  
Thursday  
0546 Local

Harm woke first. It was a surprise, knowing how she had trouble sleeping. He must've really tired her out. His grin could not be tamed.

He glanced down at her, admiring how she glowed in the quiet morning light. He gently touched his fingers to a lock of her hair.

She was sleeping next to him, sharing her bed with him, curled on her side, her head on his pillow. He was so indescribably happy at this moment he thought he might burst. He turned on his side and settled in to simply watch her.

He decided he must've done something right at some point in his life, that fate deemed him worthy of another chance with her. He could not help himself; he gathered her in his arms and gave her a massive bear hug, squeezing with all the strength of his joy.

The act woke her up, and she was understandably disoriented.

"What the … Harm!" She put her hands on his shoulders, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and pushed to try and loosen his grip. "What are you doing!"

"Good morning, French fry." He said into her hair, tightening his hold before letting her go.

She looked at him, bewildered and sleepy-eyed, though he could see the usual spark that surfaced whenever he called her that.

"You need to work on the wake up technique. Maybe try for some gentleness," She rubbed away the remnants of sleep with the heel of her hand, and brushed her hair away from her face.

He thought she looked good enough to eat, all sleepy and dishevelled and grouchy. He wrapped her in another massive hug and rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

"Harm!" She protested half-heartedly, still not fully awake. "Let go -- I'm not some rag doll, you big oaf."

"You are an ogre in the mornings, Marine." He grinned. "Let's get you some coffee." He placed a noisy kiss on her nose.

She wrinkled her nose in response and tried to swat him away. "What's the matter with you?" She mumbled drowsily, punctuating her sentence with a yawn.

"Nothing." He grinned, and raised an eyebrow. "I'm happy."

"Maybe try and channel that happiness in some way that doesn't involve squeezing the life right out of me." She grumbled, and shifted in his embrace trying to get comfortable so that she could no doubt go back to sleep.

He laughed. He reached up and captured her lips in a deep kiss, teasing her awake in more ways than one.

"Like that?" He pulled back, grinning broadly.

"Mmm." She favoured him with a languid smile. "Much better."

He watched raptly as she slowly licked her lips in lazy satisfaction, her eyes still closed, although with no intention of seeking sleep this time.

"Come with me to La Jolla?" He blurted out, and then tried to tame his enthusiasm by adding in a more steady tone, "Visit my mom?"

That seemed to wake her up. Her eyes popped open in shock, and then flitted from him to the bedside table to the headboard, confused and slightly uncomfortable, "Um, what?"

He raised an expectant eyebrow as he watched a range of worrying emotions dart across her face. He worried his lip in an uncharacteristic gesture of nervousness.

To his dismay, she rolled off him and sat at the edge of the bed, her hand roaming the floor in search of some clothing.

"Mac." He sat up, and placed a hand on her back. She squirmed away, slipped on her pyjama top and buttoned it before searching the floor for the rest of her clothes.

He scooted up to sit beside her, and caught a glimpse of her face before she turned her head away. He was caught off guard by the expression on her face; he'd never seen her look so uncomfortable.

"Mac," He tried again, resting a hand lightly on her back. "Hey, tell me what you're feeling."

She turned to look at him, studying him intently.

"You're serious?" Her tone was disbelieving, distrustful, and he thought she might just try to dissuade him if he didn't cut in.

"Yes. She'd love to finally meet you. She asked me to bring you for a visit." He wondered what she would say if he mentioned that his mother had extended this invitation before, way back when he'd taken her to Gram's in fact.

"You … this would be a big step, Harm."

"I know."

She kept staring at him.

"You've already met my grandmother." He offered, wondering why this was freaking her out.

"That was different."

"How?"

"You said she wasn't feeling well..." She trailed off, both of them knowing that wasn't the real reason.

"You didn't seem sure then." She said instead, not answering his question. Or maybe she was answering his question.

"I am now."

"I don't know if I can … This is so soon after..." She trailed off, still studying his face, frowning, her eyes filled with doubt.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He could kick himself for his freak-out session after Jordan's death, for the words he'd carelessly flung at her. And here was her instinctive self-preservation kicking in again; he should've waited, maybe until she was more comfortable, until he'd...

"Okay." She whispered.

He was deep enough in self-reproof to have almost missed her answer.

His eyes shot open at her quiet response. She sounded unsure, but he would take what he could get.

He couldn't help his grin. "Okay?"

She shrugged, and his grin faded.

"What is it?" He asked, concerned.

"Well, I um, I don't know. No one's taken me home to meet their parents before."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

She looked away, embarrassed. "Never met Dalton's family. Beyond that…" she trailed off before bringing her unsure gaze back to his stupefied one. "Beyond that, I was never in the kind of relationship where I'd meet the guy's parents."

He kept gaping at her, trying to process this.

She huffed impatiently. "Come on, Harm. You'll get lockjaw. I've only been in one serious relationship – and Chris doesn't count."

He did a mental inventory. "Dalton?"

She nodded.

"But … I don't understand."

She pushed herself back on the bed and leaned against the headboard. "What's not to understand." She began, impatient and self-deprecating. "First I was drunk, then I was in boot camp, then I was trying to be a Marine, then I was in law school, then I was trying to be a Marine and a lawyer. Didn't leave much time for serious relationships. Not to mention that I was legally married through all that and carried enough baggage to sink a tanker. You said it yourself."

He watched her for a moment before forcing his jaw shut. He ignored her last sentence, distracted by a thought her words sparked. He slid up the bed to sit next to her. "But wanting kids and a family and … I thought, I mean…"

She shrugged. "Well, I didn't really want that stuff until …"

"Until?"

She sighed, her eyes were on the far wall, but her gaze turned distant.

"Can I tell you something?" Her tone was muted.

"Anything." He answered quickly, clipping the heels of her question.

"I don't..." She cleared her throat. "I, uh," She hesitated, looked nervous.

It hit him that she was trying to live up to her promise. He wanted to take her hand in his, but she'd already crossed her arms. She wanted distance for this confession, too.

"I never really believed in the whole marriage and family thing, you know? I mean, based on what I saw growing up, I didn't trust that it could really be good. And I definitely didn't want a part in trying to create that kind of an illusion." She paused, took a breath. "Until I saw Bud and Harriet's relationship develop. I mean, that's the kind of love and devotion I didn't think even existed in real life. And before I met Chloe, and held AJ as his godmother … before that, I didn't believe in that kind of love either. Then I thought maybe it could be real, and maybe I could be a part of it, too..." She trailed off.

He'd never really thought of it, but given her childhood it was hardly all that surprising. He took yet another moment to marvel at his grandmother's wisdom.

"I guess I'm just a bit overwhelmed." She concluded abruptly, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "You caught me off guard." She looked at him, both direct and apologetic in a way he'd only ever thought her capable of. "I didn't mean to ... freak out."

He smiled at her quick about turn, and figured he might as well follow her lead. He tried not to get distracted by how damn good it felt to have her talk so openly to him.

"That's normal." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side.

She turned to face him, eyebrow raised. He took advantage of the situation and pulled her hand onto his lap, fingers entwined.

"Every woman I've ever been with for more than a month has wanted to drag me to meet her parents. I freaked out every time." He tried his best to look serious.

She grinned in response, and nudged him playfully. "You? Freak out over meeting a girlfriend's parents? How surprising."

He laughed, relieved that she could joke about it given what had happened between them. The reminder of his previous behaviour, though, sobered him.

"And now?" He toyed with the ends of her hair out of nervousness.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you didn't want the whole marriage and kids thing, but only until recently. So now..." He trailed off, waiting for her to pick up the question.

"Now?" She repeated, and then gave a nervous laugh. "To be honest, now I'm just plain terrified. What if I'm wrong? I don't know if I can do it."

It hurt him to hear her say that, even if he could understand. But he thought she'd see it differently with him.

He remembered his mother's words: bravest, most terrifying thing...

He studied their intertwined fingers, and tried to quell the melancholic ache in his chest. Mac had the terrifying part down pat, he wondered about the bravery bit ... but she had been brave, hadn't she?

It was an epiphany.

"But you were hinting at it, weren't you?"

"What?" She was startled.

"Wanting to be a part of that kind of love. You'd been hinting at it before I left ... Wanting the kind of happiness Bud and Harriet have ... and I even made a deal to go halves on a kid with you. And then I changed designators and left, and you..." Oh, god. He had no idea he'd hurt her so much then.

"Harm—"

He dropped his head. That's why she didn't keep in touch with him. How could he have been so blind? No, he knew the answer to that. He was so caught up in not having that kind of relationship with her, he hadn't considered her point of view.

"Mac ... I ..." He didn't know how to put it into words. "All that time, you..."

"Harm. Stop." She ran his fingers through the his hair in a soothing caress. She sounded just slightly self-conscious. "You were in a different place. And I don't even know if I was ready to handle all I was feeling."

He shook his head. She was making excuses for him. And he was pretty convinced she still wasn't sure if she was ready for all that she was feeling.

"Harm. You've always been a great friend." Her tone grew hushed, quiet. The sudden change made him look at her fully.

"And I don't think that I'll ever be able to think of love without thinking of you."

To say he was startled would be an understatement. "It's not like you to say things like that."

She shrugged, a little uncomfortable. "I'm trying to reciprocate."

He frowned in confusion.

"You asked me to meet your mom." She pointed out. "And last night..."

He looked at her intently, trying to convey how serious he was. "I love you. With everything that I am, you won't doubt that you are a part of that kind of love. And I'm the other part."

Her large brown eyes were solemn as she absorbed his declaration. She kissed him then, her touch holding a tenderness that rushed thick and swift in his chest.

He kissed her back with an equal tenderness, his hand cupping her jaw. He would do his best, he vowed, he would not give her reason to think otherwise, not to doubt.

--

JAG HQ  
Thursday  
1030 Local

Harm rapped on Mac's doorframe, and entered her office. She held up a finger, silently asking him to wait as she finished jotting down some notes. Once done, she gave him that smile he always admired.

"Hey." She greeted.

He forgot what he'd come in here for, and simply stood in front of her desk, smiling back at her. "Hey."

"What's up?"

"Oh," He shook himself out of a very pleasant moment. "I did some recon. Admiral's in a great mood. I bet you lunch he gives us an entire week's leave to visit Mom."

"You're on. I say Thursday through Monday, and I expect some dessert."

He gave her his most rakish grin. "Now, Mac, we don't have time for that over lunch. You'll get your dessert when we go home tonight."

"You're no fun," She teased, laughing.

He was about to respond with a reminder of how much fun he could be, when he spotted a file sitting askew on her desk, in the same place it had been since last week. He eyed it, before raising his eyebrows to look at her.

Her eyes were fixed on the folder; she'd also just noticed it. Her contrition evident in the way she was biting her lip.

He leaned forward and picked up the folder, revealing an untouched Snicker's bar.

"Harm, I..." She started, but trailed off as he picked up the candy bar and offered it to her. A warmth lit her eyes at the gesture.

She took the bar from his hand. "My favourite."

"I know." He was hit with a remarkable feeling as she smiled at him, as though the world was slowly unfurling itself, revealing long-hidden secrets, just waiting to be discovered.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Last part!

--

**Insights – Part 22/22**

_Two weeks later._

San Diego International Airport  
Wednesday  
2034 Local

"Mac."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, warm fingers along her forehead.

"Hmm." She mumbled, still half asleep.

"Wake up, the plane just landed."

She lazily rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. She smiled up at Harm as she straightened in her seat, more than a little regretful that she had to abandon her rather comfortable position nestled into his side.

"I like this way of travelling," She informed him. "You're very comfortable. Thanks."

He grinned, and unbuckled his seat belt. She was busy smoothening wayward strands of hair, trying not to look like she'd spent the better half of an hour sleeping, when he reached over eagerly to unbuckle her seat belt as well.

"In a hurry?" She teased.

"Most definitely," He confessed as he stood up to remove their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment.

She thought it was very sweet that he was so eager for her to meet his mother – it also made her feel slightly less ... nervous. Until his next words came.

"The sooner we're off the plane, the less likely we are to hit the late night rush out of the airport."

Ever the practical male, Mac thought.

He offered her his hand and a smile, adding, "And I can't wait for mom to meet you. I've been in her good books ever since Germany on account of you. This visit here is going to put me in the Sons Hall of Fame."

"I live to serve," Mac responded, happiness bursting inside her. It seemed Harm's family was embracing her more than her own ever had – the care packages Gram sent her once a month was proof enough of that. It claimed Mac's heart in ways she didn't understand. She took Harm's hand, and let him lead her off the plane all the while fighting down the worry that this was all too good to be true.

She reached to take her bag from his hand once they'd disembarked.

"Mac," He protested. "If Mom sees you carrying your own bag, I'll get into trouble."

She looked at him askance, convinced that couldn't be true.

"You will not." She said firmly. "I'll carry it: you are not my coolie."

"Fine," He shrugged. He removed the bag from his shoulder and handed it to her. "But I did warn you."

--

"I'm very excited, Frank," Trish informed her husband, searching the arrivals gate for her son and his partner.

"I know," He responded. The light teasing in his reply had her smiling. She'd said the same words at least four times in the car, and another two since they'd reached the airport.

She threw Frank a glance, and found him grinning merrily. She slipped her hand through his arm, craning her neck slightly to get a better view of the arrivals gate.

"I've never seen him like this over a woman before." She continued. "I really think she's the one." Trish added, just to keep talking. It wasn't that she was worried, per say, about meeting Sarah MacKenzie. It was just that she'd heard so much about this wonderful young woman from Harm, and had formed rather definite ideas about what she'd be like that Trish hoped her own anticipation didn't work against her. Mac was so important to her son.

"Then she must be something special." Frank responded. "You'll get along just fine, I'm sure."

"I know," Trish said, finding her sense of humour. "If she's stuck by that stubborn boy for so long, she can get along with pretty much anyone."

Just then, she saw the top of Harm's head as he walked through the gate. He was holding his carry-on in one hand, and a very stunning woman's hand in the other. That must be Mac. They looked so absolutely adorable together! Trish could not control her smile.

Until she saw that Mac was carrying her own luggage. Oh, for goodness sake: had she taught her son nothing?

"Mom," He exclaimed, grinning as they approached. He let go of his bag and Mac's hand, and pulled her in for a hug.

"Harm, it's so great to see you, dear." She returned his embrace, inordinately pleased to be holding her son after so long. He looked happy and healthy, so she was satisfied. "Now introduce me," She insisted.

Harm pulled back, laughing. He shook Frank's hand in greeting before wrapping an arm around Mac's waist.

"Mom, Frank, this is Mac," He said, and then thought to make his introduction slightly less sloppy by adding, "Sarah MacKenzie. Mac, meet Mom and Frank."

Trish stepped forward to hug the young woman.

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, Sarah dear!" She said, and pulled back with her hands lightly grasping Mac's shoulders.

"The pleasure is mine," Mac responded, smiling brightly. There was something else barely hidden behind the genuine delight in her eyes, Trish couldn't help but notice. A quiet depth and a guarded warmth that made Trish understand part of what had drawn her son to this beautiful woman.

Trish instantly liked her.

"Sir," Mac turned to Frank, hand outstretched, that wonderful dazzling grin in place.

"Call me Frank, Sarah." He took her hand in both of his, and offered a warm smile. "Let me take your bag for you."

"That's alright," Mac said quickly, "I can—"

"Nonsense, dear," Trish interrupted. She gave Harm a less than pleased look. "And why aren't you holding her bag?"

"I'm not her coolie, mom." He said, obviously amused at being told off by her. He gave Mac a pointed look, and Mac, for her part, looked slightly alarmed that Harm was getting in trouble.

"Harmon Rabb Jr., don't give Mac that look. Take her bag." Trish ordered, wondering what Harm could possibly have told Mac that had her looking so out of sorts.

Harm obediently picked up the bag, and winked at Mac.

"Told you so," He said, chuckling smugly. Some boys, Trish thought, never grew up.

"Ma'am," Mac began, apparently intent on defending her wayward son. But Trish cut her off.

"Call me Trish, darling." She linked arms through the younger woman's, and pulled her along as she set a course for the car. "You must be starving. We planned a late barbeque, if that suits you. Frank is quite the avid griller."

"That sounds wonderful, thank you."

"Good." Trish said, patting Mac's hand. "And you should let Harm carry your bags, dear; it'll keep him humble."

Mac laughed out loud at that, then turned to direct a teasing glance over her shoulder at Harm. "Somehow I don't think there are enough bags in the world for that."

Trish heard Harm's protest at the comment, and couldn't stop her grin. Oh yes, this girl was simply perfect for her son.

--

Burnett Residence  
Wednesday  
2148 Local

Trish stood by the counter in the kitchen, slicing a baguette and watching Harm and Mac as they stood together on the deck. They were laying out the place settings for a late dinner. She smiled as Harm's teasing voice drifted towards her. She looked up in time to catch Mac's conspiratorial glance full of longsuffering patience directed at Frank. Her reaction only caused Harm to double up on his teasing, until Mac replied with some pointed barb Trish couldn't hear. The sound of Frank's laughter burst through the night. Trish could only shake her head as Harm joined in with his stepfather.

She absolutely adored how cute her son and Mac were together.

Harm had told her that it was while Mac was assigned temporarily to Germany that he'd realized how much he cared for her, and in what way. They'd talked over the phone. It had been the most delightfully surprising, heart-warming news she'd heard in a long time, maybe ever.

She knew her son had no troubles when it came to women, could charm them easily. But there'd always been a layer of superficiality to his previous relationships. It had mostly been the physical attraction that he'd emphasized, had gone after. Admittedly, more recently, he'd seemed to want an emotional connection, but had never followed through – until now, she hoped. She knew emotional intimacy was hard for him. She couldn't help but wonder what she could've done differently by him...

Then again, he now considered his best friend to be Sarah MacKenzie. A woman. Would wonders never cease.

With Mac, even though the chemistry between them was obvious whenever they were in the same room, the respect and deep affection was equally evident. Friendship had come first; the emotional, intellectual connection had preceded any physical attachment. She'd been on a different continent when he'd realized that he loved her. Trish marvelled at it.

She knew how much faith Mac had in her son, and how much Mac affected him in such wonderful ways. She could see the changes in him – could see the changes even in his interactions with Frank since he'd arrived, in the way he was around Mac. It warmed her heart beyond anything she'd felt before. She wanted so badly for her boy to be happy.

"Mom," Harm walked through the patio doors, and gave her a wide smile. "What's taking so long? Need help?"

She shook her head, silencing her previous thoughts, and returned Harm's smile. She spread out aluminum foil on a baking tray, "Just preparing the garlic bread, darling. How's the grill coming?"

"Great." Harm said. He began drizzling olive oil on the slices of bread. "Except I think those two are eating half the meat before it even reaches the serving dish."

He was smiling, the bread forgotten as his eyes fixed on Mac who was tasting a piece of steak. Trish, with a tolerant smile of her own, divested a distracted Harm of the olive oil and finished his task. He remained oblivious, still admiring the woman on the deck. His smile turned into a full grin at the effusion in Mac's praise to Frank's skill on the grill.

"If only I could get her to go on about vegetables like that." He glanced at his mom. "Speaking of which, are you taking those vitamins on the list I sent you? And how's Frank cholesterol level doing?"

She chuckled at his mothering tone. She'd received an email from him, soon after that phone call where he'd poured his poor heart out about his fight with Mac. Trish figured it was his way of saying thank you. It warmed her, both that he'd sent the list, and that they'd had that heart-to-heart. God knows she'd been trying for years to get him to talk with her like that, to realize that he could talk with her like that. She'd definitely take what she could get.

"Yes, Harm." She said with playful indulgence. "I'm taking my vitamins." In truth, she'd just gone out and bought them this very morning, knowing that Harm would ask about them.

"And Frank just had his check-up. His level went down, and he's been sticking to his diet." She caught her husband tasting some meat right off the grill, and thought to add, "For the most part. When he found out Mac loved her meat too, I don't think he could contain his excitement. Went to the butcher's himself."

Harm laughed. They both looked towards the patio where Frank was grilling away, all the while giving step by step instructions to Mac. Trish could only smile at her husband.

"He's quite taken with her." She said to Harm. "Smitten is the word, I think."

"She has that effect on people." Harm replied, lost in some thought. His eyes held a softness she thought was very sweet.

"Gram said the same thing to me." Trish commented, remembering that she still had the garlic bread to make. She focused on her task.

"Gram went nuts." Harm turned to face her. "You know she packed enough food to feed a platoon, to take home with us."

"She always gives you food when you leave after a visit." Trish pointed out.

The expression on Harm's face was comical.

"Yeah: one casserole, one pie and some sandwiches for the drive back." He shook his head, laughing with amusement. "This time, she actually broke into her freezer stock, pretty much emptied it out and handed it all to Mac."

"My, that's high praise." They shared a warm laugh, both knowing that Gram's primary way of showering affection and caring was by feeding people.

"Tell me about it. She even gave Mac four jars of her famous jam. She's been sending Mac a box of cookies once a month ever since, too."

"Gram said Mac sent her a thank-you card and a bird feeder for the backyard after your visit." Trish secretly thought she was always full of good ideas, but her telling Harm to take Mac to his grandmother's just took the cake.

"Yeah. She's equally taken with Gram. Writes her a letter every time, to thank her for the cookies – you know how Gram loves handwritten letters. Wishes we had time for another visit."

"Work's been rough, has it?" She sympathized.

Harm nodded. "Just a lot of travel. Especially the first couple of months. Then things were getting back to normal, and we had that stupid fight."

Trish could hear his self-censure at that last part.

"The normal stresses of life, darling." She said, placing the garlic bread in the oven."There are ups and downs in any relationship."

"Yeah." Harm sighed.

His glance reverted to Mac, who was now seated on the porch banister, listening to Frank as he spoke. Harm broke into a slow smile. "But you know, for the first time, I think it's all worth it."

Trish couldn't help the swell of pride that started all the way down in her toes. And relief. Thank god. She sometimes worried Harm would become one of those bachelors for life, with a new woman on his arm every few months, letting none ever find their way into his heart. The kind of men that, well into their sixties, turned up at parties with a woman half their age in tow, wearing those suits with satin lapels and an ascot, smoking a cigar.

She began clearing up the counter, as the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, in which he admired Mac and she pictured what her grandkids would look like.

Trish's thoughts drifted to a phone conversation she'd had with Harm. She fixed him with an appraising glance.

"What?" Harm turned, catching her silent observation.

"I'm remembering what you said about always knowing where Sarah is."

"You can test me." A cocky grin appeared.

"I will." She challenged.

"You'll see," He said smugly.

"Food's ready," Frank called from the deck.

"C'mon, Mom." Harm grabbed the bread out of the oven, and slid the slices into the bread basket. He ushered his mother out the door, and pulled her chair out for her as Frank and Mac laid out the food.

Trish surveyed the table to make sure everything was there as the others took a seat.

"Oh," She said, noticing an absence. "I forgot the lemonade."

Mac put down the dish she was holding and headed towards the kitchen, "I'll get it, Trish."

"Don't trouble yourself, Sarah." Trish said. She was going to make Harm go and get it, but Mac was halfway through the deck doors.

"It's no trouble," She insisted. With a flash of her smile, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Trish turned back to the table in time to catch Frank give Harm a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

"Well done." He approved.

Trish shook her head in exasperation. Well done indeed. Her son had fought this tooth and nail since he'd met Mac. Before she could say anything, though, Harm grinned in acknowledgment at Frank. She thought he seemed to be hesitating about something - he was silent for a moment, exhibiting a degree of apparent self-consciousness that made Trish worry slightly – before he looked Frank in the eye.

"I've had good examples to follow." He said.

Trish's heart melted, and she felt faint tears in her eyes at the wealth of emotion that flickered over Frank's face. Mac exited back onto the deck at that moment, and both Frank and Harm stood up, waiting for her to take her seat at the table.

Trish took the opportunity to catch Harm's eye, and mouthed him a 'thank you'. He only shrugged in response, giving her that easy grin that had made her fall for his father all those years ago.

--

Burnett Residence  
Thursday  
0112 Local

Harm entered their bedroom, and found Mac sitting on the bed, leaning against headboard. She was lost in some thought, and jumped when she realized he'd just come in.

"Didn't mean to startle you," He grinned, and began removing his clothing to prepare for bed.

He frowned as she didn't respond. He knew she was having a good time here, evidenced by the sparkle in her eye all through dinner, and her active participation in the conversation. But she'd become introspective after dessert.

"You look down, what's up?"

She shrugged, "Nothing."

He watched her for a moment, then joined her on the bed. He lay down, with his head on her lap.

She looked down at him, amused.

He winked at her, closed his eyes and clasped his hands over his chest. Based on the past couple of weeks, he had no idea when she wanted to be held, and when she wanted some space. Thank god this time it was the latter – the sleuth in him planned on getting better at reading her. He felt her fingers glide through his hair, and he sighed with contentment.

She was silent for a long time, but he'd learned the hard way not to push too hard so he was willing to go at her pace.

"It's good, you know, to have family that remembers." She finally said. "I never realized the importance of memory."

"What do you mean?" He opened his eyes and looked up at her, confused by the course of her thoughts.

She shrugged lightly. Her fingers traced the shell of his ear. "The stories your mom tells. And your grandmother had a ton too. Some of them stories even your mom has forgotten."

Her eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, but her mind was far away. He felt a sudden, indescribable sadness overcome him. When they'd visited Gram, she had a ready supply of anecdotes to share with Mac. His mother and even Frank had regaled Mac with stories about him over dinner. He knew they'd probably repeat them over and over without prompting in future.

But, he realized, he'd never hear stories about her childhood, at least not from her parents. So much history he would never know. There must've been good things for her, growing up. He hoped so. She rarely spoke about it, and there was no one else; Matt O'Hara was hardly the chatty type.

"Frank's incredible."

Her sudden, unexpected comment caught him off guard.

"What?" He looked up at her.

"Frank. He's great." She was smiling, her eyes warm. "Your mom, it goes without saying, is fantastic. But I never knew much about Frank … you're lucky."

He took her hand in his, and smiled as he remembered how well Mac and his stepfather had been getting along over dinner. He supposed it was a carnivore thing, bonding over grilling meat. What his mom had said was definitely true: Frank was completely taken with Mac. Unexpectedly, it warmed his heart, and he loved Frank for taking the effort to charm Mac as thoroughly as he had, for putting the smile she was now wearing on her face. This realization caught him so completely off guard, he had to pause to size it up.

"You have three parents who…" She looked down at him, the depth of feeling in her eyes captivating.

"What?"

"I'm glad you had that kind of support growing up. It couldn't have been easy after your dad went MIA."

He sighed as he toyed with her fingers. This was his chance, he knew, to give her something of himself. No guts, no glory.

"I was five, but I still remember the darkness in the house, like this weight. It was suffocating. Then I remember going to the farm in Belleville for a few months, after we left the house, before mom was ready to … live without dad, I guess. I remember how clear everything was for those few months. Me, her, Gram. Nothing but fields and sky. Mom says I'm what got her through the first couple of years. Those were the hardest, always hoping he'd come back, yet trying not to expect it."

"She talked to you about it?" She sounded surprised.

He nodded, his attention focussed on their joined hands. "When I came back from Vietnam, when she thought I was old enough to understand the words for what grief was, is. But I'd already stopped listening. Something broke between us, then. When I went to Vietnam, that is. From then until my ramp strike … we were as distant as we'd been inseparable after dad went missing. That was my fault. I put this … chasm between us."

"You were a kid."

He smiled up at her, recognizing the same words he'd used with her.

"That's what she says. You know, I was pretty carefree before then. Relatively, at least. I went to good schools, had a generous allowance. Thanks to Frank. But I never acknowledged that part of it. I was too angry at him, and busy trying not to care. But not with my mom. It was my job to protect her – part of my resentment for Frank must've come from that."

"You thought he'd replaced you."

He shrugged. It was too terrible a thought to consider. "She tried really hard, and Frank did too, to make a family, the three of us."

He was silent, running his index finger over the lines on her palm.

"She told me not too far back that she thought I'd find a father figure in Frank. But I just wanted to be a fighter pilot. Sit in that cockpit with my dad looking over my shoulder. You know that picture I have in my apartment…"

She nodded.

"I think Tom Boone helped keep that dream alive, and Gram's stories. We also got a lot of support from dad's fighter pilot buddies, and their wives. I was always in awe of them. But when I hit my mid-teens and…" He sighed, absently marvelling at how delicate her hand looked next to his, not giving himself the chance to stop talking.

"I realized I'd stopped thinking he was coming back. I was getting too used to life with Mom and Frank, seeing that as normal, even if not great, and I was sure my mom barely even spared him a thought anymore. I had to connect with my dad. So I went looking for him. I really did think I was hot shit. In hindsight, it was pretty stupid."

"Vietnam, though, was just terrible. God, it was terrible. I came back and it took such a long while to get over the shock of it. Mom tried to help, but I was so angry, and I resented her for going on with her life when dad was stuck in some forsaken country. I guess that's the obsessive part of me you go on about. And I was immature about it, didn't understand her, didn't think of how she would blame herself for what I did." He paused to study her face. "I think I've been getting some perspective recently."

"Life's lessons hard learned." She responded quietly.

"The good ones always are, aren't they? It took me a long time to realize that." He had never said so much to anyone. He felt the bands around a dark part of his heart loosen their grip. He took a deep breath, and a part of him suddenly felt empty; he'd lost something in sharing this with her, some part of him that had always been his, his alone. He couldn't tell if that was a bad thing, although he didn't think it was. He thought maybe he felt light enough to float, hollow enough to disappear.

She only nodded in response. He watched her, as she traced his features. A thoughtfulness was softening her dark brown eyes. She smelled of summer and saltwater breeze. Her heart was the greatest gift he'd ever been offered. It was not a bad thing, he decided. It was a good thing; she already filled all the empty spaces.

"Harm?" Her fingers continued their soothing ministrations, and his eyes fell shut in simple enjoyment.

"Hmm."

"What changed?"

He looked her in the eye.

"I want to be good for you."

She was startled. Her fingers stilled. "What?"

He jumped in, before he lost his courage.

"I'm starting to realize that my decisions and actions affect more than me. I gave you such a hard time about not wanting to talk about your parents, but I never offered you anything. I want to be good for you," He repeated, emphatic.

Something dark and timeless was waiting for him in her eyes. She shifted to lie down beside him, facing him on the comforter, so close he could see every speck of gold in her irises.

"You are good for me. You're the best parts of me." She held his gaze with an honesty he treasured seeing in her. "Sometimes I think I don't deserve you."

He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, resting his forehead against hers. "I love you, Sarah MacKenzie." He placed his hand over her heart. "Always."

Her hand slid up his chest, and came to rest over his heart.

"Always," she whispered.

--

Burnett Residence  
Monday  
0915 Local

Trish would admit to feeling more than just a bit sad that her son and Mac's weekend visit was coming to an end. This trip though, had been good. Good for her, good for Frank and Harm's relationship, just plain good. She could only hope that his son married the woman seated next to him, sooner rather than later. Then she could start planning for the grandkids. In fact, she had recently met a local artist who, as a means of supplementing her income, designed the most adorable, off-beat onesies. That kind of talent had to be supported.

She watched Harm carefully. That boy took the most convoluted routes to achieve the simplest goals. Too stubborn by far. She smiled as Harm added fruit to Mac's plate. Mac, for her part, rolled her eyes though she patiently moved aside her bacon to make room. She also threw Harm a cheeky, challenging grin as she helped herself to a couple more strips of bacon.

"Sarah, you'd mentioned your interest in palaeontology last night," Frank was saying. "And I remembered that the brother-in-law of a good friend of mine is on the Board of Trustees for the Smithsonian. I'll give him a call. I'm sure he could arrange for a tour of some kind for you, maybe a look behind the scenes."

Mac's eyes widened with excitement, "Thank you, Frank! That would be incredible."

She then launched into a story about her uncle taking her on hikes in the desert searching out dinosaur footprints, and Frank was more than happy to oblige by giving her his full attention.

Trish exchanged an amused grin with Harm. Frank was being so absolutely endearing with Mac. She'd bet he would give the girl investment tips next, if not offer to have his financial advisor take a look at her portfolio. She'd learned years ago that it was his own awkward way of saying he liked a person. She smiled inwardly in recollection: on their first date, he'd asked her how her 401(k) plan was getting along. As though she hadn't been nervous enough.

As Frank and Mac remained steeped in conversation – now about tectonic plates and meteorites, of all things – Trish excused herself to refill the platter of bacon. She was suitably impressed with Mac's ability to pack away meat. All this time, she'd thought Harm had been exaggerating.

Which made her wonder if there was some merit to Harm's claim that he always knew where Mac was. She hadn't had a chance to test him. Next time he visited, she decided, she'd make a point of it.

To her surprise, Harm followed her into the kitchen.

"Hey, Mom?" He kept his voice low enough to warrant Trish's full attention. She turned to face him, and was greeted by an excited, slightly self-conscious expression.

"Yes, darling?"

"You still have the engagement ring dad gave you?"

She held her breath. "Yes."

His grin was blinding.

"I think I'll take it back with me."

--

The end

--


End file.
